Alien
by Dreaming of Everything
Summary: They thought that the defeat of Megatron and the defense of Earth had given everyone the chance to relax a little. But that's not all that's out there... Action-Adventure, gen, canon mentions of SamMikaela, Sam, Mikaela and Beecentric. Complete, sequel.
1. Chapter 1

**Alien  
****Chapter One  
**By Dreaming of Everything

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers, or the songs "Get Up, Get Up" and "You're Stronger Than Me." Please respect what is mine, though.

**Summary**: Defeating Megatron and defending Earth from the Decepticons is all well and good, and everyone's enjoying the chance to relax a little. (Except maybe Ironhide.) It would all be perfect, maybe even idyllic, if only that was all that was out there…

**Author's Notes:** My first foray into Transformers fic! Saw the movie yesterday and was suddenly bit by the inspiration bug.

Movie-only, I'm afraid, and I'm totally unfamiliar with other canons, so this is from my limited, movie-only knowledge. OCs will be introduced to fill necessary roles not covered in canon, but none will have an incredibly central role.

There will be no pairings beyond canon references to Sam/Mikaela. This is not a romance fic. (For once.)

This is the first of five planned chapters, but that number is likely to rise and could potentially fall. Action starts in chapter 2, I promise.

**SPOILER WARNING** **for anything from the movie.**

oOoOoOo

Life had finally gotten good for Sam Witwicky. He had completed all the steps of his get-his-life-in-shape plan and then some. (Step one had been the car, step two had been the girl, and steps three through whatever had involved saving the world from giant evil robots with _other_ giant robots, one of which was currently his best friend. Go figure.)

And yeah, he was still teased mercilessly in school, and his parents hadn't really loosened up all that much, despite the fact that he saved the world, but he could live with that. Very happily, in fact.

And every so often all the Autobots would meet up, and Bumblebee would get to catch up with them all, and Sam would get to know them a little better—in-between the government intervention and the destruction of downtown Los Angeles via giant robot battle, there hadn't been much of a chance to.

And, again, there was Mikaela. Over-all, he was _very_ happy.

It was coupled with this vague sense that things were about to go utterly, totally, wrong.

So he was paranoid. So what? A little bit of paranoia was probably healthy, after what he had gone through.

Captain Lennox had told him that you got like that, after you'd been through a war. They emailed a lot, now—part of the negotiations had been that everyone "in the know," the core group—Maggie, Glenn, Captain Lennox, Epps—had been allowed contact information, with the understanding that _nothing_ would be transmitted, through any means, relating to the Transformers.

It wasn't that people didn't know what had happened—Los Angeles had seen to that—as it was the fact that there were people who would do a lot to get their hands on anything pertaining to the event. Anyone from the media, to mob bosses, to street crazies convinced they were sent from God to punish the unjust, (starting with the heathens of SoCal,) were potential attackers, and with the Autobots still on earth, someone finding out the wrong things could a) blow their cover and b) cause planet-wide panic.

It was summer break, and Sam had too much free time—at least, according to his parents. Video games no longer held much appeal, not after what he'd gone through, but day-long jaunts with Bumblebee and Mikaela did. They were still looking for a picnic spot secluded enough that Bee could spend some time in his non-car form, and so far his dad hadn't pulled through on his threats to make him get a part-time job. ("You never do a thing! And you still have to pay for that path you destroyed. Now everyone walks on my grass, _including_ your car!" "I saved the world, right? Doesn't that count for something? And it wasn't me, it was Optimus who broke your path! Complain at him! And you're really freaky about the grass, Dad!")

He was maybe a little bored, but it was a _good_ bored. The sort of bored that didn't involve dissolving into abject terror every six hours, give or take a few.

_This_, however, was one of the less-good parts of his new life, 'this' being waking up at five past fuckit in the morning because Mojo was yapping (loudly) for his pain pills. His leg had been pronounced healed and the cast had come off and the drug supply cut off, and he was apparently going through withdrawal. Loudly.

The dog was joined by blasts from a car horn. Sam groaned and stuck his head under his pillow. True, he had promised to head out with Bee and Mikaela for the latest episode of the ongoing picnic-spot search, but he didn't actually want to get up.

There was the crash of a door slamming shut, and then heavy footsteps down the hall.

"Shut up your car, Sam!" his dad bellowed.

"He's not _my_ car, Dad, and you can tell him yourself!" he yelled back—even though he _was_ working on pulling himself out of bed and finding clothes. At least he had had the forethought to pack the picnic basket the night before.

His dad stomped off, and the horn stopped a few minutes after that. Thank God.

He poked his head into the garage on his way to the kitchen. "I'm coming!" he yelled. "Hold your horses!" He snickered as the radio started playing a bad country song with "My girl ran off, and took my horses" as part of the chorus.

Sam grabbed the picnic basket, stuck the refrigerated items into the small cooler, stuck a muffin in his mouth for breakfast and headed for the car. He ducked into the driver's seat, the door shrugging itself open for him; he stowed the basket and the cooler behind the seats.

"What the hell was up with you this morning?"

"Good morning!" the radio crackled at him as the car roared to life.

"Yeah, yeah, good morning to you, too. I have an actual alarm, you know…"

The radio dial slid again. "He said, 'Get up, get up, you sleepyhead!'" (1)

Sam laughed. "You find music for the strangest things."

"Still hurts," Bumblebee admitted, using his voice.

"Yeah," sighed Sam, patting the dash comfortingly. "Still, it must be nice to be able to speak again, huh?" A smatter of applause faded in and out of the radio before it fell silent.

Mikaela was outside waiting for them as they pulled up, dressed for summer and a picnic in shorts and a tank.

"Hey, Sam," she said, sliding into the passenger seat and pausing for a quick kiss. "Hello, Bee." There was a friendly chirp, but nothing more.

"Guess your radio luck ran out," said Sam. Another beep, this time slightly more affronted.

"What direction are we headed today?" asked Sam. Mikaela pulled out a map. "We're trying for the mountains," she said. "Okay, in about five miles you're going to take a left at…"

oOo

Nothing changes in space. You can travel for eons and meet nothing more exciting than a handful of hydrogen atoms from some long-distant star. The galaxies surrounding you change glacially in their formations; everything else stays the same, darkness and vacuum and absolute nothingness.

But as you fall through space, there's a chance your path will run into another object, eventually, as vast and as empty as it is…

oOo

"This looks pretty good," said Mikaela. They were in the middle of nowhere; the last car they had passed had been an hour ago, and they were in an area that made someplace merely secluded look crowded. "In fact, I think we've found ourselves a picnic area, gents!"

"You do realize that if we get caught, whoever caught us and/or the government will never let us have the end of it?" said Sam nervously. He was looking around them for evidence of people. There wasn't any.

"This is my Grammy's land," said Mikaela as the buzzing and clacking of Bumblebee's transformation started. "We've tried to sell it, but nobody'll buy it. There's nothing out here."

There was a loud _thud_ as Bumblebee sat down heavily on the ground, relaxing out of a stretch. It was amazing how happy he looked, how emotive his face could be.

"What's it like being in car form?" asked Mikaela curiously as she sat down on the picnic blanket she had spread next to the robot, pulling Sam down with her.

"It's—not uncomfortable," the Autobot says. "But— Can you imagine not being able to turn your head to see behind you? Kind of like that. And less mobile."

"Does it… hurt?"

"No—it's natural." He shrugged, a human gesture he'd picked up, accentuated by the 'wings' on his shoulders. Body language wasn't a natural thing for the robots to learn—it was certainly proving harder than English had been—but they were trying to learn it, at least. Some were having better luck at it than others. Ironhide was on one end of the spectrum, and Bumblebee was on the other.

The summer sun was warm, and the day was perfect for lazing around doing nothing, was the unspoken group consensus.

"We better get going," said Sam finally, as the shadows started to lengthen. "My dad'll flip out if I'm not home by curfew."

"It's one in the morning now, right?" said Mikaela, shifting herself off of Sam; they had been curled around each other, propped up against Bumblebee, looking off towards the setting sun.

"Yeah. Mom buckled, but I think it's only because she likes you."

"Your father's still firm, though. He says he knows what he'd be doing with a girl like that at your age," Bumblebee says, voice light.

"I _told_ you not to repeat that!" hissed Sam as he (attempted) to punch Bee in the leg, all he could reach. Mikaela just laughed, although Sam still blushed. Admittedly, the make-out sessions had paled that particular reaction, but still.

oOo

"You're sunburned," said Mikaela reflectively.

"What?" said Sam, distracted.

She poked his arm by way of reply. "Ow!" he said, jumping.

"You're lucky Bee's driving. You'd have plowed us into that van over there otherwise."

The engine took on a distinctly pleased note, and the car sped up a little.

"Well, if you wouldn't try to scrape off my peeling skin…"

"Darling, you're stronger than me," (2) purred the radio.

"I think that's a comment on the weak fleshlings," said Mikaela. There was a beep of agreement.

"That includes you, too, _darling_," drawled Sam. "Ow! There's sunburn there!"

"Let me kiss it better, then?"

"Mmmm."

"We _are_ lucky there's Bee."

"You're the distracting one here… Whoah!"

"What?" said Mikaela.

"Caught a glimpse of a comet out of the corner of my eye. Surprised me…"

"_Really_ good you weren't driving."

"You're worse than my old Driver's Ed partner."

oOo

"Hey, Bee?"

There was a rustle of static from the radio in response. Sam had dropped Mikaela off at her home, and was now headed for his, and the car had been silent.

"What do you think my dad thinks of you?"

Silence.

"I just don't know. I think you make him nervous or something."

"Logical," said the car.

"You did save my life, though."

"Done a lot—"

"Already, yeah. It just kind of… Bothers me."

oOo

"Hey Mom, Dad," Sam said as he walked into the house. "What's happening?"

"There's been a whole set of meteorites," his mother responded. "Are they more of your, er, friends?"

"I don't know," said Sam. "Haven't been told if they are. Stuff _does_ fall from the sky ordinarily, you know. Though I saw one on the drive home today."

"Most of them landed in Brazil. The authorities are relieved that it wasn't a more populated area."

"Not all of them, I guess."

"Everyone's making guesses about it being more of the robots."

"Well, as long as they don't guess the real truth… Hey, are we all out of muffins again?"

oOo

(1) "Get Up, Get Up," by Lavern Baker.

(2) "You're Stronger Than Me," by Patsy Cline


	2. Chapter 2

**Alien**  
**Chapter Two**  
By Dreaming of Everything

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers, or anything related to it.

**Author's Notes:** I'm working on getting as much of this story out as I ca before my inspiration dries out! Which means that I'm updating this story faster than I have any other story I've ever written.

Thank you to all of my reviewers, subscribers and favoriters, and please review/PM me/send me an email--I love feedback of every kind.

I hope to have the next chapter out soon!

oOoOoOo

Mikaela couldn't sleep. It wasn't just that the night was too hot—though there was that—it was that she was worried.

The meteorites were just too similar to what had happened last time. Not the arrival of the rest of the Autobots—that had been something of a Godsend—but the whole general idea that phenomenally powerful alien beings could fall to earth with nobody ever knowing.

The Decepticons had done that.

And so the meteorites were just—reminding her of that again.

It was mixed feelings. On one hand, Bee was great (_and_ the catalyst for getting her and Sam together) and the rest of the Autobots were nice enough, even if they could be a little intimidating and a lot embarrassing, but on the other hand there was, well, the Decepticons.

Basically, it had been a big, dramatic, dangerous, in-your-face reminder that they—humans as a whole—did not, in fact, know much about _anything_. And that, sometimes, they were defenseless, incapable of protecting themselves—even if they knew what to protect themselves _from_.

oOo

The troops were sweating nervously as they trained their guns on the captive robot. Even the entrance of the Secretary of Defense wasn't enough to distract them.

"The NBE has been detained, sir," said the soldier in charge, standing to attention.

"It's got the Autobot marking on it…" he muttered as he looked it over: not the largest they had seen, maybe a large-sized (but still in the range of normal) car when it was transformed; its paintjob was in good condition, although the colors were uninspired—beige and a dark, blackish-colored metal—and it lacked the obvious weapons of some of the robots they had seen, not that that meant much. The Camaro had pulled his out of nowhere.

The robot glowered from where it sat, entangled in strong steel cables being held fast by the helicopters circling overhead. The cables, actually, were a recent advance in technological capabilities, designed entirely for just this eventuality: they were superchilled, cold enough to keep a Decepticon somewhat contained without forcing a potential Autobot into a comatose state—which would make it even harder to distinguish between a potential enemy or a potential ally, as the Camaro had proved when it had been released—before it had been talked out of it by the Witwicky boy, anyways.

Still. Just because it was _labeled_ as an Autobot didn't mean it _was_. Releasing it was currently a risk they couldn't afford.

"What's your alliance?" It was a good place to start. Neutral and useless.

"Not going to talk to you," said the creature, voice moody.

"Why not?"

"Why should I? And anyways, you haven't given me any reason to trust you."

"You landed on U.S.-controlled land, in a government test facility, causing a considerable amount of damage to irreplaceable, largely untested, technology, then headed towards a civilian residential area. What would you rather we have doen?

It was impressive how sulky the robot managed to look. "Not going to talk to anyone but Optimus Prime," he muttered.

American Secretary of Defense John Keller sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Feel free to cooperate at any time," he said, then left.

Once they were outside of the holding facility, his aide spoke up. "Mr. Secretary, if I may, have you ever dealt with a 15-year-old boy?"

oOo

"Hey Mom, Dad, I'm ho—" Sam yelled as he walked into the house, his words cutting off as he was with his mother and father looking annoyed and nervous, their living room filled with officious men in dark suits and ties.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"Ah. Sam. You were privately commended for your actions concerning recent events. A real hero, and at your age.

A glance out the window showed Bumblebee, crouched so he could see in to the room, glaring at the occupants. A few of the government suits were trying to pretend they weren't intimidated.

"_What_ is going on? I haven't done a thing, I haven't done anything illegal, I've kept silent about the Transformers, what do you _want_ from me?"

"The Secretary of Defense has a request for you, Mr. Witwicky."

"_Mr._?' muttered Sam incredulously to himself.

A (official) cell phone was handed over. "Hello?" he said. This was ridiculous, and he knew his voice was revealing the fact that he thought that.

"Sam," the voice on the other end of the line responded. "You probably remember me. Secretary of Defense John Keller."

"Uh…"

"Are you still in contact with the NBE?"

"Bumblebee? Yeeeaah. Seriously, though, Mr.Keller—sir—Bee hasn't been a problem at all, in fact I think—"

"I'm not calling about that, so stop talking before you convince me it's an issue. I have a message I need your car to relay for me."

"…okay?"

oOo

The stars had come out of the night sky and stretched a scar in the thick jungle a mile long.

It had been a Saint's Day, so everyone in the village had found a spot in a boat, and they'd gone up the river and hiked for two miles so they could see where it had finally come to rest.

The star had been a piece of rock maybe a foot thick and two feet long. It had cracked in half when it had landed, splitting into two nearly equal pieces, and the townspeople had only been able to recognize it from any other rock by the crater it had torn in the ground.

Already, the plants were beginning to fill in the gap. They knew seeds were stirring beneath their feet, and a tree had fallen over the empty bowl caused by the impact; already, the vines that had draped the tree were reaching for the fresh ground.

Soon, it would be impossible to find.

oOo

The girl never noticed the strange, insistent twitch of the vine beneath her feet as she turned and left the crater with her family.

oOo

"Huh. They need Optimus in Nevada. We should go," Mikaela said.

"I'm way ahead of you," replied Bumblebee.

"Anyways, it wouldn't hurt to give him some back-up," said Sam.

The three of them had retreated to an area that was empty enough that Bumblebee could switch to his bipedal form; they needed to talk.

"He was in Florida, so we don't need to worry about time," added Mikaela.

"I'll tell him we're coming and arrange a rendezvous point," said Bumblebee.

"Which just leaves me to figure out what to tell my parents that will convince them to let me go, and what to tell the government so they let us in the front doors," said Sam with a sigh.

"We could sneak in?" said Bumblebee, looking a little _too_ interested in the idea.

"_No._" Sam's voice was thick with flat refusal.

"Awww, you're no fun," said Mikaela, a smile playing on her lips.

"What are you telling _your_ mom?"

"That we're going on a roadtrip."

oOo

It was three days after the meteorites had touched down, and dawn was close enough that the Eastern horizon was beginning to lighten, that it happened.

She was in her mother's arms and out the door before she was even fully awake—and as they ran, she realized that their house was gone; there was only a tangle of greenery—or what she thought was plants, at least. They were moving, though. Her father was trying to fight his way out of the tangle.

It was dark, and there were people running everywhere—some for the forest, some for the roads, some for the river, but mostly just trying to run _away_; there was screaming, and she wanted to scream back. She didn't, though.

"Where are the boats?" said her mama with a gasp as they reached the river. Again, there was only that snarl of greenery, this one stiller than the one that had been their house had.

A beam of light cut through the charcoal darkness, and burned at her eyes; she covered them, and when she opened them again, on of the airplanes that delivered supplies up and down the river had landed—a biplane.

"Get in!" called the pilot, over the noise of the engine and the noise from the town.

"My husband—!" gasped her mama.

"There's only room for the two," said the pilot, his voice softer and sadder than his face made him look—his expression was strangely wooden.

Her mama's face hardened, and she pushed her into the plane, then climbed in after her, whispering her rosary under her breath, fingers moving where the beads would have been, but it was still back in the house.

Then the plane was moving, and she held back a gasp—she had never been up in the air like this before, above the trees. She moved further away from the window, against her mama. She hugged her.

The plane dipped low to circle over the village, but she couldn't see it. It just looked the forest, only less varied. It looked like just one sort of tree, but she couldn't tell which kind from here, not with how fast they were moving.

As they circled over it, lower and lower, a branch suddenly shot out of it, aiming for the plane—it swerved to miss it, making her breath catch and making her mama shriek, but it missed. The pilot muttered what sounded like a curse, and Mama covered her ears, then stopped to hug her.

She curled her face in close to her mama, so she couldn't see outside while the plane spun and dodged the forest canopy reaching out to them.

"I don't think there's anyone left," said the pilot grimly, and her mama started to cry.

"My little Maria," she whispered. "You're all that's left."

oOoOoOo


	3. Chapter 3

**Alien  
****Chapter Three  
**By Dreaming of Everything

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers in any way, shape or form.

**Timeline Note:** Based off of the 2007 movie _only_. Follows the end of the movie, with a fairly long grace period in-between.

**Author's Notes**: I am writing this at sunset on the beach, watching a trio of bald eagles against the fir trees, and it is all pretty incredible. (Except for the ants.)

To help with readability, spoken Portuguese (when mixed with other people speaking in English) will be indicated by solid italics.

(Now the eagles are being ganged up on by crows! It's a battle of might vs. agility! _Who will win?_)

**On a final author's note, thank you **_**so **__**much**_** to Epona Harper for helping me with names. They would suck a lot and in a major way without her involvement, and she was willing to help someone who was essentially a total stranger (me) salvage parts of my story, and she is just over-all fantastic. Thank you!**

oOoOoOo

"Ma'am?" said the airplane-driver to Maria's mama. It woke the girl up.

"Yes?" her mama said, and her hand tightened a little on hers.

"I can let you out in a near-by city, but if you're willing to, I'd really appreciate it if you would talk to some—people—I know about what you've seen. We need to stop whatever that was."

Maria's mama's eyes were cold. "I lost my husband, my mother, two sisters and a brother and all their children. Of course I will do whatever I can to help."

"Thank you." The pilot's words were sincere, heart-felt, but his position didn't alter—he just looked straight ahead, hands moving occasionally on the baffling array of controls that made the plane fly. He made it look—more than natural, he made it look automatic.

Maria shivered, and wished her papa was there.

And then she cried. Her mama would have comforted her, but she was crying too, and that scared Maria most of all.

oOo

"I can't believe my parent's actually let me go," said Sam, voice disbelieving and baffled.

"You've said that before," said Mikaela, voice dry. "Five times, since we started driving, and I wasn't counting before that."

"But we're talking about the people who gave me a one o'clock curfew _after I saved the world_."

The radio sprang to life. "It's the government," crackled out the speakers. "They're controlling our minds."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Sam.

"Well, I imagine having the Secretary of Defense send a team of muscled men in dark suits so you can have a short chat on the phone would be fairly startling."

Bumblebee gave a beep of approval.

The three of them were already in Nevada, and probably getting close to the government compound they were meeting Optimus Prime at—Sam didn't know how close; Bumblebee was driving. His internal GPS-type system worked better than MapQuest when it came to directions, especially when the ending location was classified information released on a need-to-know basis. They still didn't know _why_ they were going there, but it couldn't be good—not when the government was calling in the help of giant robots that, officially, didn't exist anymore. At least, not on earth—the official story was that they had all left, returned to space, although a fair number of people (and the National Enquirer, which was having a field day) didn't believe them.

"We're here," said Bumblebee, and Sam turned his attention away from his thoughts and back to reality, where they were rapidly approaching a high barbed-wire fence with an automated gate that was set into it, with a small building, almost definitely for a guard, to one side—it the only way into the area that Sam could see, and you could see for a long way in either direction, out here.

They pulled up to the gate, and voice emanated from a speaker set into the building; you couldn't see into the building through the small panel of heavily tinted glass that made up the only window.

"ID?" the guard asked. Scrambling hastily for his wallet, Sam fingered through its contents quickly, finally pulling out the card the government had issued him for just this sort of situation. He had no idea what it actually said about him—and he probably wouldn't have been told if he'd asked—but it did mean that they were going to get through the gates. Probably. They'd called ahead and been told they were—well, not _welcome_ but permitted to visit, at least.

It seemed to take the guard a while to deliberate. Sam had been hastily patching together an excuse and/or defense for about 30 seconds before the response came. "ID accepted," the voice said finally, and the card was pushed back out of the slot Sam had stuck it into. The gate shuddered up, and Bumblebee drove through, maybe a little faster than was entirely necessary.

The car gave off a distinct feeling of nervousness—maybe it was the slight flexing of the radio dial, the indistinct background murmur of static. Bumblebee hadn't been very talkative since they'd started moving more and more towards the middle of nowhere, and the radio stations had faded out, one by one.

Of course, Sam thought, Bee's last run-in with the government had been pretty traumatic. Sam himself had had more than a few nightmares about it, and he wasn't even the one who had gone through the whole thing.

A single soldier was waiting outside what Sam assumed was the main building, (seeing as it was the only building…) presumably for them. Bumblebee pulled to a halt.

The soldier walked over to them, focusing on Sam and, to a lesser extent, Mikaela, though he did give her a quick once-over—Sam glared slightly at that. He didn't pay the Camaro any attention. Probably meant that he didn't have any idea it was one of the giant robots that had essentially flattened three full blocks of downtown Los Angeles.

"You're expected. I've been told to inform you that the relevant parties are waiting for you on the north-eastern most airfield, which is accessible by the road you see in front of you. Follow it to road 127-A, then turn onto the left branch and continue to the end," he said, standing loosely at attention. "There is no need to wait for an escort, one will not be provided."

"Uh, thanks," said Mikaela. Bumblebee revved his engine a little. When the soldier didn't continue, they headed off in the direction he had indicated.

"I wonder what goes on here…" said Mikaela, off-handedly.

"Considering that the Hoover Dam was built to house Megatron and the Allspark, anything's possible," said Sam dryly. "And all guesses are off about Area 51."

Soon, an indistinct blur on the horizon resolved itself into what had to be the sitting form of a Transformer, despite the heat blurs that made it waver and jump against the horizon; the car sped up a little.

They pulled up next the small cluster of soldiers, officers and government officials—plus one giant robot—and Bumblebee shrugged open his doors, Sam and Mikaela following his wordless request to disembark; once they were out the car began to shudder and jerk, quickly shifting upwards into his more humanoid form.

The robot remained surly, glaring pointedly at the ground.

"Will you talk to _him?_" said the Secretary of Defense with a sigh; there was the distinct impression that he had been dealing with the newcomer for a while.

"Hmph," he said, eyes narrowing a little more.

"God grant me patience," muttered John Keller. His aide coughed slightly, _maybe_ covering up what wanted to be a laugh.

"Have you seen him before?" asked Mikaela.

"No," Bumblebee said, shaking his head—another human gesture he'd picked up, the rudimentary beginnings of the more subtle forms of body language.

The new Transformer muttered something that sounded rude, under his breath. It was too low for any of the humans to catch, but Bumblebee snorted.

"I'm guessing that it's probably for the best if we don't ask," said Mikaela with a wry grin.

"I'm happy to translate," said Bee with what Sam and Mikaela had come to recognize as a full grin. The soldiers were looking, if possible, even more weirded out by this sort of casual interaction than they had been by the sulky, beige-and-black robot alone.

Or maybe that had more to do with the fact that said giant robot had been a Camaro five minutes before.

"He's refused to speak to anyone other than Optimus Prime," said the Secretary of Defense, turning to face Bumblebee's legs, Sam and Mikaela. He looked close to totally exhausted. "The number of soldier's we've had to reveal this to, and what this is costing the government… If you only knew."

"Optimus Prime is on his way," said Bumblebee brightly. "He should be here in—five minutes."

Most of the eyes in the group turned to the horizon—even, Sam noticed, the soldiers'. At least the Transformer didn't try to make a break for it… Of course, _now_ they had Bee there to go after him if he did try anything, and the yellow Autobot was an impressive fighter.

Of course, maybe Sam was a little biased.

Sure enough, though, a line of dust could be seen, steadily growing as the vehicle creating it drew nearer, and the glint of metal could be picked out—barely—by the humans; Sam knew that Bumblebee had a much better view.

"It's him," he confirmed, and a few minutes later Optimus was slipping straight from truck-mode and driving to robot-form and walking swiftly forward, before he joined the loose cluster—more or less, at least. Sam had already noticed the difficulty in loose conversation when one member of the group was 40 feet taller or shorter than the others.

"_Fin_ally," muttered the beige Transformer, and Sam was struck with the distinct but irrational sensation of rolling eyes. It was something in the tone.

"What's happening, Mr. Secretary?" said Optimus Prime calmly, a touch of steel in his voice.

"NBE 13—marked with Autobot identification, alliance unknown—was detained at 1100 hours on the 10th of August at U.S. Military Testing Area 78 when he walked onto the testing field from an unknown direction, presumably under some sort of cloaking device, and revealed himself, waited until he had drawn the attention of the on-duty commander, and then demanded he be allowed to speak with Optimus Prime, which was assumed a code name for a project. He offered mild resistance to capture attempts. Higher levels of command were contacted, and the current Secretary of Defense John Keller was placed in direct charge. Secretary of Defense John Keller contacted Sam Witwicky, who then relayed the necessary information to Optimus Prime, via his vehicle," the soldier in charge said, sounding as if he was reading a memorized report.

"Bee's not _my_ anything!" said Sam. "Why do people keep saying that?"

Bumblebee beeped agreement and nodded his head forcefully.

"Thank you, Captain Whiliker, that will be enough," said John Keller smoothly, cutting through the growing conversation.

"Name and alignment," said Optimus Prime sternly, turning his attention onto the beige Autobot.

"Codename Landslide," he said, voice still rebellious but more respectful than anyone had heard from him before. "Name—" and then he rattled off something that the humans couldn't even completely _hear_, the lowest notes of its subterraneous rumblings vibrating in their bones. "Autobot." The 'of course' wasn't said but was heavily implied. John Keller's aide seemed to be attempting to cover up a fit of laughter, for some unknown reason.

"I—might remember you," Optimus Prime said, looking squarely at the intruder for a brief second before his eyes dimmed slightly; a second later they brightened again, and he continued the interrogation.

"What do you think of humans?"

"Annoying," said Landslide promptly.

"Said the pot to the kettle," muttered Mikaela to Sam. She couldn't speak quietly enough that the three Autobots present couldn't hear her, but she knew that the new one, at least, was unlikely to understand the reference.

"What do you think of Autobots?" said Optimus.

"Also annoying."

"Decepticons?"

This time the only response was a wordless snarl, oddly metallic but as threatening as that of any carbon-based predator. The soldiers as a group flinched back, and Mikaela wordlessly found Sam's hand with her own. Bumblebee shifted a little, until he was a little bit closer to being between the two civilian humans and Landslide.

"Why do you dislike them so strongly?"

"Just because I don't like somebody doesn't mean they should be annihilated." Landslide's voice was so matter-of-fact that it almost seemed as if it made sense.

"Equal opportunity misanthrope?" said Mikaela.

"No," said one of the soldiers suddenly. "The root of misanthrope—anthro—refers directly to humans. Think like anthropology. It doesn't work."

"Quiet, Cahler," snapped the captain.

"Ironhide vouches for you," said Optimus Prime suddenly. "He says you've fought together before."

"Yeah," muttered Landslide.

"He's a verified Autobot," said Optimus again. "You're free to release him." There was no movement to do so by the soldiers.

"You heard the man!" cut in John Keller finally. "Let the robot go!"

The ends of the ropes were released, slithering down to the ground, and slowly, shudderingly, Landslide slid. He was tall—they all were, from a human perspective—but shorter than Optimus was; maybe the size of a large car, when transformed.

"I've been looking for other Autobots for a while," he said at last, shifting a little as he stood. Sam thought he looked stiff, inasmuch as giant robots could. He knew the cold used to subdue them—even in the diluted form the ropes took—wasn't comfortable. Almost subconsciously, he reached back to rest a hand on Bee's foot, almost as if to assure himself he was still there.

He hissed as his hand touched the robot, drawing it forward with an in-drawn breath of pain.

"What's wrong?" asked Mikaela worriedly.

"Burned my hand on the hot metal," he said, sheepish. "It's the sun…"

Mikaela was trying to hide her amusement, and failing miserably. Bee looked torn between the humor of the situation and concern for his ward.

"You were about that hot for a few days," Mikaela said brightly. Sam glared at her.

"The sunburn wasn't _that_ bad." And really, it hadn't been, and it was mostly gone by now, though there was still some redness and peeling along his shoulders.

The new Autobot—Landslide—was watching them with a measure of disinterested, vague curiosity (Sam wasn't sure how he'd pulled that one off) and mild contempt, forming an expression that was reminding Mikaela of certain cats she'd known—the ones who definitely didn't care about what you did, _especially_ when you were scritching behind their ears, and the fact that they were purring was pure coincidence. In fact, they weren't purring at all. It was all an illusion.

She realized with a jolt that essentially everyone else was watching them as well.

"Ah," said Sam. Apparently he'd noticed the same thing.

As one, Bumblebee and Optimus Prime suddenly shifted towards a particular patch of what looked like empty sky to weak human eyes.

"There's going to be a small biplane approaching from that direction," said Bee after a few brief minutes, turning to face the humans, who were all looking curious. "You should give the orders to allow passage. I think you're going to want to hear this…"

A few minutes later, a biplane _had_ appeared, painted splotchedly in various shades of deep red and orange, in a way that almost wanted to be a camo pattern but didn't quite manage it.

Currently, it was circling the area, a few hundred feet up. Apparently, Optimus was giving directions of some sort over a radio link.

"Is there any sort of lake around here?" asked Bumblebee, who was apparently listening in. Optimus gave him a _look_.

"Not with the drought," said another soldier, silencing himself after the captain had given him a _look_ that was the equal of Optimus'. The total incredulity the appearance of giant robots that changed into cars had instilled in them was apparently inhibiting their professionalism. Sam didn't mind, certainly—it was entertaining, and their captain kind of got on his nerves, and it drove _him_ to distraction.

Finally, with the unnerving request by Optimus that a medic be informed and on-hand, the plane continued out of the circle, swooping low over the ground in a shallow arc; at the bottom of it, at an elevation that had half the soldiers wincing at the expected crash, someone was jettisoned from the plane, which came out of the dive and picked up the speed it had lost, curling back around towards the group; a little ways away, the plane began to shift, transforming in mid-air to land in a crouch in robot-mode; what had looked like random patterns on the plane had formed into some sort of intricate, daubed chain of red-orange curling around the robot's deep red body.

There was a shrill scream from the huddled forms of the two soldiers who had been sent to look after the body that had jumped from the plane. It was, presumably, from the unknown passenger.

"Solarity," said Optimus Prime, facing the new Autobot.

"Hey," said Bumblebee with a wave.

The soldiers looked torn between whether to treat the _new_ giant robot as a threat that needed immediate neutralizing or not. John Keller gave them a stern look, and they backed down slightly. It probably helped that any of the three new 'opponents' that had appeared were capable of killing a handful of them with a single casual misstep—and that was _without_ pulling out the guns that had been shown from the footage of the destruction of Los Angeles.

There was another scream from the direction of where the biplane—Solarity—had let out his passenger.

Solarity sighed. "_It's alright, ma'am. I can explain,_" he called out. The rest of the party looked blankly at him.

"Come again?" said one of the soldiers.

("Shut _up_, Cahler!" snapped the captain.)

"It's Portuguese," Mikaela said. "I don't know what he said, though…"

"_Monster!_" screamed the women. Then, "Maria! _Maria, stay close to me!_"

"You're going to have to come with me, miss," said one of the soldiers, a trifle nervously. He didn't know how to react to this distraught woman screaming in some language he couldn't speak, frantically trying to shelter her daughter from them and obviously as frightened by the giant robots as he was—if not more so.

"_American! Soldier! Stay away from me—you're guarding __**them**_"

"I don't understand you—"

"_Bastard! Son of—_"

"Mama!" said Maria, startled by her normally soft-spoken mother's cursing.

"Oh, Maria! _I'm so sorry, I didn't know what that __**thing**__ was, I never should have put you in harm's way like that…_"

"_No, Mama. they're the ones who saved that city!_"

"_I don't trust them—not with you, my little Maria—and I don't trust their allies,_" and here she paused to glare at the nearest soldier "_and I don't trust their motives. Yes, they fought off those others, but for all we know they're merely defending their own territory, and they'll claim it and everything on it some time when we're helpless!_"

Solarity flinched back a little, the movement quickly stilled.

"What?" murmured Optimus. Obligingly, Solarity translated. Sam's eyes were wide by the time he'd finished, and Optimus Prime was frowning deeply.

"We should go talk to her," said Mikaela abruptly. "Tell her what we went through, with Bee."

"I'm the only translator," said Solarity. "And it would probably be… unwise to have me approach her."

"Why was it necessary that this happen here?" snapped John Keller. "Calming the woman down from her hysterics is all well and good, but what does it have to do with vital, military-related information.

Solarity looked agitated. "I was flying over the Amazon Rainforest when a disturbance caught my attention. I flew lower to look, and discovered a village that was being attacked by some sort of plant—it was moving fast enough to catch someone—that is faster than is normal, right?—and seemed to be overrunning the village. It was almost completely filled in within a matter of minutes. The only two survivors I spotted were those two, a mother and her daughter, and I did a quick fly-over, but the plants seemed aware of me and attempted to pull me out of the air. I didn't spot any survivors, but I couldn't carry any more passengers safely, so I did not spend much time looking.

"As far as I know, they're the only eye-witnesses still alive."

Sam gulped audibly. "That's—really freaky."

"_Plants?_" muttered Mikaela incredulously.

"Ah," said the Secretary of Defense. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention." He was frowning deeply.

"What can we do to help?" said Optimus Prime, voice concerned, turning the man.

"Probably something," he said. "Assuming, that is, that the Brazilian government will let us into the country. If not, you'll have to get in and act on your own.

"Still, though, this is enough of a potential risk that I should be able to get at least a little American involvement allowed. You should start driving towards the area soon—you'll take longer than we will, but we need to get permission and round up a team if we do. Can I have radio contact information?"

"Yes," said Prime.

"Sam," said John Keller, turning to the teenager. "You and Mikaela should probably stay out of this, but you're not going to even if I did. And _you'd_ just encourage it, even if I did say no," he continued, looking sharply at Bumblebee. "That said, I trust you to be careful enough that they both make it through fairly intact, so I'll tell your parents something about what's happening, Sam, and give your mother an excuse she'll swallow, Mikaela.

"In the meantime, I agree that you're the best people to talk to the woman over there. Captain Perch, contact the main building and see if you have anyone who speaks Portuguese. I need to go contact the emergency team we've set up for this sort of an event—Cahler, Johns, you're my temporary bodyguards.

"What are we waiting for people? Move!"

"Well, I don't know about _you_, but I'm waiting for a translator," muttered Sam.

"Solarity, Landslide, I know it's a lot to ask, when you're not part of the regular Autobot fighting force, but would you be willing to help with this? It doesn't sound like anything I've heard of before."

"Definitely," Solarity cut in, no hesitation in his voice.

"…fine," drawled Landslide, a minute later. "Not like there's much else to do—aside from being 'detained' by pompous officials, apparently."

"At least you didn't try to shoot them," sighed Optimus.

oOo

An hour later, Sam and Mikaela were back in Bumblebee and headed back towards California; they'd stop by home briefly for clothes and food for the ride, then head south towards Brazil—unless they were contacted by the government and told otherwise for whatever reason, be it the danger of the situation or a refusal to cooperate by the Brazilian government.

"At least Raquel calmed down some," sighed Mikaela. "It seems like I keep on forgetting how—intimidating—you can be when you first see you."

There was a pause that seemed almost hesitant before Bumblebee responded with a recording. "'It's some sort of robot," Sam's voice said. "It's probably Japanese.'"

"Aaagh," Sam muttered, thumping his head into his hands before he playfully hit the dashboard. He was in the passenger seat, and Mikaela was "driving"—that is, she was the one in the driver's seat. Bumblebee was the one doing the actual driving. It was usually like that, when they were driving somewhere—it felt kind of weird for either one of them to be driving their best friend around, especially when he was so much better at it than they were. (It just came naturally to him, you could say.)

"I can't believe you saved that!" Mikaela giggled.

"I can't _believe_ you saved that," Sam groaned.

"But I think there was something bothering you before that," Mikaela said, and she was serious again.

It was Mikaela's voice that played this time, more quietly. "'I keep on forgetting how—intimidating—you can be when you first see you.'"

"I think Raquel will get over it," Sam said, and hoped he was picking the right meaning of the replayed phrase. It was tricky to talk to Bee when he was in car form, when his voice hurt the most to use—it was something to do with how the broken pieces had bumped back together, and somehow being in the car form upset the delicate balance it had been knocked into, the one that allowed Bumblebee to talk again. "Certainly Maria is well over her fear. Her mom had to keep on chivvying her away from where you and Solarity were standing."

"I'll admit, you gave us a bit of a shock, at first," said Mikaela, "but I _know_ you now. You two are my favorite people to spend the day with, and the ones I trust most. And yeah, some people aren't going to get over it, but some people never manage to get over the idea that white people are somehow intrinsically better than anyone else—and that's utter bullshit, and their loss." Her voice was low, intense.

Sam just reached over to rub a hand along the steering wheel, his other one sliding into Mikaela's.

After a quiet minute, the radio crackled back to life, playing something low-key and happy. Sam smiled, and life—despite the thing in Brazil, despite the difficulties of adapting to life with an Autobot, despite concerns about _anything_—was good.

oOoOoOo

**Author's Notes**: For the record, I've added two more chapters onto the outline for this story. Sigh. I have no self-control. This chapter ended up split in two because it was too long, (12 pages with the split!) and another chapter's been split, with more added onto the end to boot.

On another note, all the new characters introduced are from my own mind, because I a) need them for the story and b) can't write any of the characters introduced in other canons, as I am a 2007-movie-only fan.

(I know, I know. A mess of OCs is almost _always_ a bad idea, but I need them for the plot, I swear! And I'm avoiding Suedom with every fiber of my being, I promise! I hope I don't mess this up too badly…)

Also, thank you to everyone who's reviewed, favorited and/or watched this story! I love to write, and it's wonderful when I'm not the only person who ends up enjoying it. (That said, I really like people, and love it when I get to meet them—emails, PMs, reviews and what-have-you are all wonderful!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Alien**

**Chapter Four**

By Dreaming of Everything

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers in any way, shape or form, or the song "Grace Kelly," which is by Mika. Other characters are mine, though.

**Author's Notes:** Gah. Another too-long chapter—13 pages this time. It's also why it took longer to get out, for the record.

Many thanks to CaravanKa for pointing out some stupid mistakes I made last chapter (not too mention furnishing me with more fic recs than I could have ever dreamed of), and more thanks to Epona Harper for serving as Evil Muse Extraordinaire. She's the inspiration for an entire section of this chapter, in fact.

As always, thanks to _all_ my reviewers!

oOoOoOo

Secretary of Defense John Keller was on the phone. "Yes. Yes. No… That won't be necessary. Just the one." There was a pause, and then he spoke a verification code into the mouthpiece. "No, that's all. Wait—I want the Mexican border _watched_… No, it's not the immigrants, I don't want any plants going through. Yes, you heard me right, it's why I want the _biology_ team… Yes, I know that I'm not the Secretary of Agriculture, and I do believe it's not your place to question me. I've been charged with protecting the lives of American citizens, and believe me, this _is_, most definitely, a matter of national security. …no, not in a figurative sense. Or a non-immediate one. —You know that high rank you've managed to achieve? The one that's giving you the balls to talk to me like this? Consider it revoked. Put your immediate superior on the phone. …No, I don't care that he's in a meeting right now! Put the man on the phone!"

A few minutes later he hung up with a sigh.

The secretary that had slipped into the room while he had been talking spoke up. "Mr. Secretary? The Brazilian government has sent its response."

Keller looked at the paper blankly. "The translation's underneath it," said the secretary after a brief second.

"Thank you, Johnston," he said with a sigh. "It's been a long day."

"Yes, sir."

He scanned the paper quickly, then put it down. Excellent. "The following is a message to be relayed to radio designation Prime. Dictation, please. Start message. Proceed as planned. Government not opposed. US involvement uncontested. Home base will be located at abandoned ex-Brazilian base 27. Report directly to the front gate with the verification code agreed at during our last meeting. Space will be provided. Further instructions will be relayed on arrival. Attached is the relay from Brazil. End message."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary," the secretary said after a minute. "And should I add in the Brazilian transcriptions?"

"Yes, please. And if you'd do a few more things for me… I'd like as many Portuguese translators as we have available, plus ten, added into the convoy. And extra basic field rations. Have someone download, organize and save—let's see—ten different copies of all the data we have pertaining to plants, animals, rainforest ecosystems, bio-weapons, eco-terrorism, biological research and, uh, alien activity. If a set of that could be fitted to laptops, that would be better, but I want them to be _secure_. I'm also going to install a new coding relating to this incident… The area circled on this map is now going to be known as Area Zero, and I want constant satellite surveillance, with someone watching in case of changes, _any_ changes—"

oOo

Sam and Mikaela were both asleep, which was just fine, despite the fact that Mikaela was "driving." That was merely to lessen the chance that they'd get pulled over—Bumblebee didn't have a holographic 'driver' of his own—although it _had_ been Mikaela's turn to drive. She'd double-checked that Bee would take over, then fallen asleep.

And, really, nobody had noticed Bumblebee driving around on his own, when he'd first landed on Earth, so it was unlikely that anyone would notice that Mikaela was asleep at the wheel. He'd just need to wake her up before they got to the border, and they'd be golden.

They weren't far from Mexico now, in fact, but it was a lot of empty nothingness at the moment. Bumblebee hadn't even seen another car for half an hour, coming up on 45 minutes. No, wait—there were headlights coming up behind him.

A minute later they car had pulled even, and Bumblebee had honked his horn, a cheerful hello—it was Ironhide. The truck pulled in front of the Camaro, and Bumblebee revved his engine playfully and drew in close to his bumper before drawing back.

"Don't give me any reason to use my guns," said Ironhide over the communications network they all had, sounding irrationally gleeful.

"The humans have a phrase for you condition!" replied Bumblebee brightly. "It's called being trigger-happy, if I recall."

The other Autobot snorted. "It's been boring. Earth's a weird planet, but there's been nothing to do."

"I'm translating that as 'nothing to shoot.'"

The trail end of a laugh trickled into the communication. "It's Optimus. I'm already over the border—maybe you'd be faster if you stopped chatting so much, hmm?"

"Where's Ratchet?" asked Bumblebee.

"He's maybe 50 miles behind you, with one of the new ones—Landslide. You haven't met him yet, Ironhide, so I'm sorry in advance. They both needed to find alternate shapes."

"The new one I understand," said Bumblebee, "but why Ratchet?"

"He's a medical vehicle only recognized by the United States. It would look out-of-place, if not outright suspicious, once we crossed the border."

"I see," said Bumblebee.

"What else can you tell us about the situation, Optimus?" said Ironhide crisply before the yellow Autobot could continue.

"The Brazilian government is turning over full investigation to the United States, with the understanding that our progress will be monitored. They've heard reports—village rumors, mostly—of something in the deep jungle, but they've dismissed it as silly gossip and backwater superstition. Solarity's the best eyewitness, excluding the human woman and child he rescued from an overcome village, and he has a small amount of poor quality footage, but that's been undisclosed to the Brazilians, seeing as we officially don't exist."

"Solarity?" questioned Ironhide further.

"The second of our new arrivals. He's considerably less—abrasive,"

"_Yeah_," said Bumblebee feelingly.

"Where is he?"

"With Optimus Prime," cut in a new voice, sounding vaguely amused.

"Hey, Solarity," Bumblebee said agreeably. "Hang on, I'm gonna go. I want to wake Mikaela up before we're to the border…"

"We figured it would be easier than figuring out air traffic and rules and such," explained Prime.

"Right. Solarity, huh?" Ironhide's voice was vaguely threatening.

A private line between Optimus and Ironhide opened up. "Don't threaten to shoot him," said Optimus flatly.

Ironhide just growled wordlessly. He didn't bother denying that he had been about to.

oOo

A few hours later the sun was only starting to gray the horizon, and Mikaela was awake again—Bumblebee had woken them both up for the border, and they'd both slipped back asleep again soon after that particular obstacle had passed. Sam was still dozing fitfully, although Bumblebee guessed that he would be waking up soon, but Mikaela had been jolted back to awareness by a pothole ten miles down the road.

"Mind pulling over quickly?" she said, after a few minutes. Wordlessly, the Autobot pulled to the side of the road.

After a quick glance around to see if any cars were coming, she had crouched carefully behind the car, hit the tire and muttered that he 'had better look away' and peed, ignoring how awkward it was, along with the fact that what she was doing should be a lot more uncomfortable than it was, considering she was hiding behind her best friend, who identified as male at the very least.

A minute later she was up and rummaging through the cooler they had put in the conveniently popped trunk, eventually coming up with something suitable as breakfast.

She was trying to reach one of her energy drinks—they had ended up wedged behind the cooler—when she was startled by Bumblebee honking his horn at a set of two cars as they went by. Slipping back into the driver's seat, she said "What was that about?"

"Ratchet and Landslide," replied the car.

"_Ratchet_?" she said, surprised.

"Nnngh," said Sam. He was definitely waking up, but not there yet.

"He was the hummer, then?" She frowned. "I guess he'd need something other than an emergency vehicle to get across country borders…"

"I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be violet sky—" (1) sang the radio, before the radio dial made a little flicker between stations, leaving it on static shortly—what Mikaela and Sam had come to recognize as a verbal shrug—before returning to the first station few seconds later to play "I can be anything you like," before shutting off.

"So Landslide—that's the sulkbot, right?—must have been the green SUV."

The sound of snickering laughter filled the car. Mikaela smiled at the him.

"You know, I dated someone a lot like Landslide when I was 13…" said Mikaela thoughtfully. "Moody, irrational, hated the world—I guess robots really do come in 14-year-old boy form. Although, if I remember correctly, Lance didn't turn into a car. He did have a green jeep, though…"

"What?" said Sam, his voice a little hoarse with first-thing-in-the-morning disuse..

"The green SUV in front of us is the grumpy Autobot from the government area back in Nevada," explained Mikaela. "The car in front of him is Ratchet."

"Makes sense," Sam said, craning his neck in an attempt to get a better look at the red Hummer—a slightly different model than Ratchet's old one—in front of them. "And it's—Landslide, right?"

"A highway in Washington was totally blocked by a landslide today, aggravated by the continued rains the region has been experiencing—" said the car radio. Sam blinked slightly.

"Huh. You know, I find it hard to believe that all that's just out there, conveniently saying what you need when you need it," Sam said. Bumblebee huffed aggrievedly.

"Anyways, good morning, Bee. Morning, Mikaela."

"Morning," Mikaela said, leaning over to press a kiss to Sam's lips. "I got you some breakfast."

"Hey, thanks!"

oOo

It had been quiet for a while, Bee driving and Sam and Mikaela cuddling, when Bee's inter-Autobot comm. set crackled into life; only he could hear it—it wasn't set to play on the car speakers.

"This is Landslide," the other car introduced. He was directly in front of Bumblebee, with Ratchet ahead of _him_, and Ironhide leading; Optimus Prime and Solarity were a ways ahead of the group, although the gap was closing.

"Hey," said Bumblebee in greeting, a bit warily.

"What's the story with the two human-things you're with?"

Bumblebee bristled slightly, the hum of his engine taking on a slightly more threatening note. "I was charged with serving as Sam's guardian when I first came to Earth, and we came to know each other well during the fighting. I grew to know Mikaela as well. I was severely injured during the final fight against the Decepticons, but Sam only left my side to get the Allspark to safety, at my request, and _he_ was the one who ended up defeating Megatron; Mikaela stayed with me, despite the risk to herself. He also negotiated my release by the human government when I was captured saving him. I asked to stay with him at the end of it all, and it was agreed to."

"_That_ little squishy killed Megatron?" came the reply. Bumblebee's engine revved a little louder. Sam and Mikaela were looking slightly concerned.

"It's nothing," he said to the two of them alone before switching back to the conversation he was having with Landslide.

"What do you mean by _that_?" Bumblebee said.

"He's unimpressive, even by human standards. I don't know how you stand dealing with them—having them in you, _living_ with them, letting them drive you around." Landslide's voice was illustratively horror-stricken.

It was a good thing they were in another stretch of deserted road.

Bumblebee's engine revved loudly and he veered sharply out until he was driving alongside the other Autobot, matching his speed; he began to turn inwards, until Landslide was close to being forced off of the road entirely.

"Maybe you should think twice before speaking," Bumblebee says, voice fierce, heated. "And understand that there are some things you don't understand—assuming you're _capable_ of understanding them, that is.

"And it could be worse," he finished. "I _could_ be living with _you_."

Bumblebee backed away from the SUV and accelerated, moving in front of Ratchet and then Ironhide and continuing on at a fast pace, leaving the other three cars in his wake.

"Whoah," said Sam, eyes wide. "What was that?" He slowly relaxed his death-grip on the door handle, and Bumblebee's internal sensors showed that they both had an accelerated heart rate, indicative of surprise or fear. (Or sexual arousal, but he knew enough about human culture and the two of them to rule that out, at least.)

He replayed the conversation over his in-car speakers, so that Sam and Mikaela could hear it.

"Thanks, Bee," Sam said softly, gently running a hand along the back of the seat. "Not that I care what some asshole of a robot thinks of us, but I appreciate it all the same."

"I get the distinct feeling that he'd be a Decepticon if he didn't hate them so much," said Mikaela. "Scary thought, considering we'll be working with him."

"We can hope he improves…" said Sam doubtfully.

Bumblebee grumbled around them, speeding up a little more.

"I guess dealing with aggression by driving too fast really _is_ universal," laughed Mikaela.

oOo

"Idiot," said Ironhide firmly, opening up a line between himself and Landslide.

There was a moody silence from the other end of the 'conversation.'

"Bumblebee's not easy to piss off. He's the _nice_ one." There was a tangible threat to the comment. "And he's not the only one with a vested interest in the two humans. Optimus Prime owes the boy his life. Others have gotten to know other earthlings." Ironhide himself tended to find himself dropping in on Captain Lennox, Sarah and baby Annabelle on a fairly regular basis, but he wasn't going to mention that.

This time there was more of a response from Landslide, but it was still only a snort.

"So unless you want to find yourself at the wrong end of a gun some evening, I recommend you try to do better with some of the other members of the group. Ratchet, for example, assuming it's not too late. I hear it's bad luck to piss off the medic."

There was some indistinct muttering.

"Good to hear you _understand_."

"…Yes, sir," came the response.

oOo

It was hours later; Sam was driving, and Bumblebee was getting a little bit bored, to be honest.

There was only so much scenery he could take.

The six Autobots (Ironhide, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Landslide and Optimus with Solarity, in order) had all met up and were traveling at more-or-less the same speed, forming a convoy, of sorts; any ordinary human would have just seen a string of mismatched cars (even if they _were_ all excellently maintained and in tip-top shape) heading in the same direction, but the order had been pretty carefully chosen. Optimus Prime was in the lead, of course, and Solarity was stuck with him. Ironhide had been instructed to bring up the rear, his usual position—it gave him more maneuverability in case of an attack, when he wasn't hemmed in on all sides. Ratchet was serving as the buffer between Bumblebee and Landslide—he was marginally less likely to go after the new Autobot than Ironhide was, and considerably less likely to lose it than Bumblebee, for once.

Solarity had commed in a request to talk to "one of the earthlings" about an hour back, and he and Mikaela were talking.

He was, apparently, endlessly curious, despite his fairly reserved introduction. He was certainly friendlier than Landslide—but then, there were probably Decepticons that were friendlier than Landslide.

Currently, Mikaela was struggling to explain gender roles and sexism to a race without genders.(2)

"—so why are the females the ones discriminated against?"

"Well, they—we—tend to be physically weaker, and less aggressive… And then, women are the ones who bear children, which leaves them in a delicate state for nine months—especially the last few—and that means that, traditionally, we've needed protection during that period, and we're less independent and capable of independent survival and self-defense… And we're the ones, well, built to care for the children—feed them, certainly. Really, there has to be someone who can give you better answers than this, you know. I'm no expert."

"No, this is _fascinating_," Solarity replied. "What can you tell me about childbirth?"

Mikaela sighed. "This is about to get embarrassing," she muttered before continuing. "Well, um—

"You know, I have no idea how to go about this. Basically, once a woman's pregnant, she needs to get all the nutrients the child needs, plus a lot more calories, and there's a lot of complications that can arise—like a genetic defect, or a miscarriage, or more than one baby—in fact, there are human doctors who specialize just in childbirth. Ob-gyns—obstetricians and gynecologists. And then when they're born, they need a lot of care—they're helpless, basically, and really delicate."

"Huh. How long does it take to reach maturity?"

"Well, talking's usually around one year or two—I think—and walking's around there too. School starts at five or six, or as young as four. You're a legal adult at 18 or 21, in the U.S., but that can change. Culturally, it's been a lot younger in the past, in most places. We're both 17 years old."

"Like 13, 15 or 16," cut in Sam. "In Japan, it's 20."

"For a long time, in a lot of places, for girls at least, it's been when they reach—sexual maturity," said Mikaela, brushing bright red. Bumblebee was snickering at her—and also Sam, who was blushing just as heavily as she was at her words.

The conversation was interrupted by Optimus Prime.

"We're nearing Brazil, and I want to go over this well before we're in the danger area again," he said. "If we're attacked by anything, stay close by—we don't know what it is—but as a whole we should try to move away from human settlements. As always, Bumblebee, your main charge is making sure Sam and Mikaela are safe."

"Understood," chirped the car.

"Ratchet, stay out of things as much as you can, in case of emergency—we don't want to lose the only medic we have. Ironhide, give backup wherever it's needed the most—you've got the most firepower. Landslide, cooperate with others. Other than that, everyone do what you can."

There was a chorus of affirmative responses. Sam and Mikaela traded wry grins.

"This will be our default until we're at the base, unless otherwise noted. Also, John Keller wants me to remind you all that we would be 'classified information if the government acknowledged you existed at all,' so to keep actions discreet."

"Sam adds that 'discreet' does not mean what happened in his back yard," interjected Bumblebee, laughter in his voice. Mikaela was giggling, but it was still too painful a memory for Sam—_he_ had his head buried in his hands, trying to keep from reliving the experience. Of everything that had happened, that had probably been one of the more stressful situations he'd been in.

"Duly noted," said Ratchet dryly.

oOo

They were well into Brazil, and only an hour—half an hour if they were lucky—away from their final destination. Sam and Mikaela were both looking at the scenery; they were into the rainforest, now, and neither of them had ever seen anything like it.

They both paid attention, though, when the radio flicked on.

It was Optimus Prime. "This is Optimus. We're at the base, and we've been joined by another Autobot—Gyro. Ratchet has vouched for him. Once you're inside the area, head for Hangar 3—a debriefing will take place there. Most of the military convoys have already arrived."

"Another one?" said Mikaela, sounding bemused. "There's been a whole rash of them lately…"

"And none of them know each other, not like you guys did," added Sam.

"Probably used the pre-existing meteor shower for cover," explained Bumblebee. "More subtle, so it's better when you're not in a hurry."

"Your voice sounds like it's doing better today," said Mikaela off-handedly.

"_That_ was a non sequitur," said Sam.

"It comes and goes," said the Autobot. "The components still shift around a lot."

"Oh."

"That must suck…"

oOo

The seven Autobots and three humans—Sam, Mikaela and Keller—were all crowded together at one end of a huge airplane hangar. Gyro, the new Autobot, had turned out to be small—though larger than Frenzy had been—with the alternate form of a tri-colored motorcycle in chrome, cherry red and black, and with a sense of humor in permanent over-drive in reference to just about everything.

"What we're facing," said John Keller, "is, essentially, a total unknown. We have a short clip of footage—" He paused, so a few seconds of grainy video could play against the white wall behind him, "—and the eyewitness account of one villager and her child. She claims that the jungle came alive and 'ate' the town. This is similar to Solarity's account." The named Autobot nodded in confirmation.

"We've got a team of scientists currently settling in, but ready to start work immediately after that," continued the Secretary of Defense. "They're all at the top of their fields, and they've been given all the information we currently have relating to the situation. However, they are unaware of your presence, as is the rest of this settlement—especially the refugees we've had taken in from the near-by villages. We plan on keeping it that way."

He drew a breath to continue, but before he could start the sound of talking could be heard from outside the hangar door. He frowned.

"Is this it?" said a voice from outside, the words muffled but still clear. "It's got the right clearance for where we're meeting, and it's about the right area, and it says it's in use—"

Before anyone could move, the door was swinging open to reveal a small cluster of eight mismatched, wide-eyed humans.

"Holy _fuck_," said one, a curvy blonde woman. Most everyone else seemed to be frozen, including the Autobots.

John Keller sighed loudly. "This would be the research team. Ladies, gentlemen, would you please step inside?"

The group consensus seemed to be to not move, except for a slight, shuffling and subtle attempt to back away a little.

The blonde woman was still muttering obscenities under her breath.

The newest Autobot, Gyro, was apparently attempting to stifle mad giggles in one of the corners.

"In, people!" demanded John Keller finally.

They cautiously moved inside, shutting the door after another reminder, although they all stayed huddled near it, eyeing the aliens with doubt.

"What the hell is _this_?" said the blonde woman (she seemed to be the loudmouth of the group) after a minute. There was a general murmur of assent—they wanted explanations.

Heads across the board, from Autobot to human, swung to Keller.

"These are the Autobots," he said, when it was clear that all explanations were up to him. "They're responsible for saving the earth from another faction of similar robots, the Decepticons. I'm sure you heard about it on the news. They've kindly offered to help with the situation. In fact, one of them is the only reason we're aware of this threat at all." Solarity grinned slightly.

"Didn't the government say that they returned?" said another scientist, a dignified-looking older gentleman.

"_I_ haven't trusted the government since my father got elected as a U.S. Senator," said a voice from the back—Sam thought it was a brown-haired woman in her late twenties or early thirties, looking faintly shell-shocked.

Her comment sent Gyro into new throes of silent laughter.

"Oh my _God_, I can't believe this is happening to me," muttered the youngest person in the group, a muscular man in the early side of his twenties with light brown hair and a demeanor that screamed 'jock' at the top of its lungs.

The third and final woman just shrugged, as if to say "Eh, I've seen worse."

John Keller nodded to Optimus. "I am Optimus Prime," he said, ignoring how several of the new humans jumped as he started speaking. "Leader of the Autobots."

"Ratchet, the medic."

"Ironhide. Weapons specialist." It was only a timely glare from Prime that kept him from demonstrating.

"Bumblebee."

There was a brief pause. "Wait, us too?" said Sam. "Sam Witwicky."

"Mikaela Banes." The two of them, who were sitting twined together on Bumblebee's shoulder, got several odd looks.

"Solarity."

"Landslide," said Landslide finally, but only after Solarity had jabbed him in the back of the neck with his finger once or twice.

"Official pain in the ass," muttered Ironhide.

"Gyro," said the newest one finally, still exuding the sense that he was utterly amused by all of this.

There was another pointed look from the Secretary of Defense, this time aimed at the human group.

"Kristine Christopherson," drawled the blonde one with the mouth. "Biologist." She jostled the bag she was holding into the side of the man standing next to her, prompting him to speak.

"Toni Martinez," he introduced himself. "The zoologist."

"Irene Gray," said the brown-haired woman at the back of the group. "Botanist."

"William Curtis," said the elderly man. "Also a botanist."

"Keats Anders," said a middle-aged black man. "Biologist."

"Louise Brant," said a woman somewhere between 40 and 50. "Lab assistant."

"Evan Fitzgerald, botanist," said the jock.

"And George Tanaka," finished the final person, another male, of Japanese descent and in his late twenties. "I'm the other lab assistant."

There was a moment of silence.

"What do you need to get started?" said John Keller finally.

"Well, we were trying to find the lab…" said Toni Martinez sheepishly. "Didn't turn out right…"

"_Samples_," snapped the blonde woman, Kristine Christopherson. "What do you expect us to do with nothing but a few seconds of video and the panicky impressions of untrained villagers in the dark?"

"I'll go get some," said Solarity brightly.

oOoOoOo

(1) Grace Kelly by Mika. (For both of the clips in that paragraph.)

(2) I know that canons other than the 2007 movie get fuzzy on this, but I'm not following them, which means I'm free to make up my own gender rules—ones that make sense to me.

And those rules are are: one gender, with the default in English usually working out to 'he,' though it's technically possible that a Transformer on Earth could decide that they like 'she' as their pronoun of choice. Gender is just not something that's an issue on Cybertron, either way. But do keep in mind that this is personal opinion because canon doesn't have an answer—at least, not yet. Future movies may do away with this, I don't know…


	5. Chapter 5

**Alien  
****Chapter Five  
**By Dreaming of Everything

**Author's Notes:** This took a lot longer than I'd hoped to get finished, but I'm blaming Harry Potter. (And I did get several other things done, so there's that…)

That said, this chapter is 14 pages long, which is… Not inconsiderable.

As always, thank you so much for your wonderful reviews!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers in any way, shape or form.

**NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS REWRITTEN AS OF AUGUST EIGHTH. There are no glaring continuity errors, but things _are_ different. Thank you very, _very_ much, Epona Harper, for giving me well-deserved concrit. It helps me improve!**

oOoOoOo

The eight scientists were alternating between hanging around doing nothing much and busying themselves setting up their lab when the first samples were brought in.

The footage, they had all agreed, wasn't helpful in specifics; nobody could get enough detail out of it to identify anything other than branches moving freakishly fast. The first batch of samples—fifty of them, all neatly encapsulated in sample jars—was the first real look at the infected material.

"It's not moving," noted the zoologist as they all approached the cart they had been wheeled in on.

"Figs," said the athletic botanist, Evan Fitzgerald, somewhat cryptically. "Caprifigs."

"You're right," said Irene Gray, eyes fixed keenly on the samples. "They're all figs."

"Like the fruit?" asked Louise Brant, one of the lab assistants.

The third botanist, the older gentleman, William Curtis, started talking. "Yes. Not exactly the same plant, but in the same genus—Ficus."

"Not a fruit," muttered Evan.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Kristine, pushing her blonde hair away from her eyes and frowning.

"I'll help you," said the second biologist, Keats Anders, quietly.

"What you would think of as the fig itself, the part you eat, is actually called a syconium," Evan continued. "The flowers and fruiting bodies are inside of the flower, where they're fertilized by fig wasps, which get in through the ostiole—"

"I'll get started looking at fig wasps," said Kristine. "It sounds like a good place for me to begin—you know, what with how they were moving around and all."

"Have you worked with figs before?" asked Irene.

"A little," he frowned. "I know enough to say that these are all caprifigs. That narrows it down some—family Moraceae, genus Ficus, subfamily Caprinae."

"I'm going to go do basic research," said William, frowning slightly. "I haven't worked with figs since some basics back in school."

"I want to start mapping out which species have been infected," Irene said. "I want to figure out how much it has spread, find out how universal this is. Would one of you help me?" she asked, turning to face the two lab assistants.

"I will," said one of them—George Tanaka. His voice was slightly nervous.

Evan was looking a little distant, caught up in his own thoughts. "I'll start general experimenting, then," he said thoughtfully. "Would you be willing to help me, Mrs.—Brant, right?"

"It's Brant alright, honey, but just call me Louise," the woman said, looking far more amused than she should. "Plus, I think you outrank me right now."

The soldier who had wheeled the samples in—his nametag identified him as a D. Cahler—looked at the one scientist left with nothing to do. "Mr. Martinez?" he asked. "The zoologist?"

"Yes, that's me. And it's Toni, please."

"Solarity mentioned that there were the dead bodies of several animals located in the forest floor, and that they may be of interest to you."

"Solarity? –ah." He winced slightly. "That would be one of the robots, then, yes. Um, that would be great. If you don't mind me asking, why do you know about them…?"

"I was there when they—two of the robot-things—landed," the soldier shrugged. "So I was tapped to go along with the rest of the convoy to Brazil, because I already knew about the whole thing with the Autobots and the Decepticons—interesting linguistics going on there—meaning they wouldn't have to add any more breaches of security onto everything."

"Right…"

oOo

Sam and Mikaela walked out of the restricted area and into chaos.

There were soldiers scurrying about everywhere, directing waves of people in varying directions; their orders were being interpreted by translators, strategically placed every hundred feet or so.

They found themselves next to a couple, slightly older looking, who seemed equally overwhelmed.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" the man shout-said to him; it was far too loud for normal voices to be heard. "How they just rounded us up with no explanation other than it was for our own safety… I'm telling ya, I never would've done it if it wasn't the good old U.S. of A government."

"What brings y'all out here?" asked the woman. "We were with the eco-tourism group, but I don't remember seeing you."

"'Eco-terrorism?'" Mikaela mouthed to Sam; he shrugged in reply.

"It was a—road trip," said Sam, maybe sounding a little _too_ insistent.

"How nice!" the woman responded. "That's just so cute, you two little lovebirds."

The two teenagers exchanged glances. "We've—got to go now," said Sam slowly. "We've got to go find someone to talk to about—"

"—contacting our parents," cut in Mikaela smoothly.

"Of course! I'm impressed with your responsibility."

"You two go ahead, then! I hope we do see you around."

oOo

"So you're evacuating everyone from the area, and moving them in here," said Mikaela. "Why?"

John Keller looked up from his dinner. "Issues of infection," he said. "We don't know what caused that, or if it's likely to hit another village, or if it can be spread. This way, the situation is easier to monitor and, through that, control."

"Oh."

The three of them, along with another four scientists, were in a small area that had been turned into, more or less, a general-use room for the higher-ranking people: officers, scientists, and Sam and Mikaela, mostly. The building also housed the labs and some bedrooms, mostly, again, for the higher-ranking officials.

Another full building—the large one they had all met in, at first—had been adopted for sole usage by the Autobots; it was large enough that even Optimus could sit comfortably in his transformed state. The soldiers had claimed a third building, and the evacuated civilians another three beyond that.

"So what happens if it turns out it is catching?" asked Sam.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," said the Secretary of Defense firmly.

"Ah," said Sam.

As they had been talking, the mouthy blonde scientist had walked over; once she reached the table, she hooked her leg around a chair, pulling it out before sitting in it.

The two teenagers looked at her askance; Keller simply nodded a greeting. "How did things go today?" he asked.

"As if you haven't read the reports," she shot back. "We've figured out it's figs, but we don't know much beyond that."

"Wait, figs?" asked Sam. "Like the fruit?"

"Apparently, they're not fruit, they're sycoriums, or something. Syconiums—that's it. Anyways, I'm looking at fig wasps."

"Fig wasps?" It was Mikaela asking the question this time.

"Little tiny fly-type things that live inside figs and may or may not be responsible for sending the jungle into homicidal killing fits. It's not looking very likely, right now, but we've got some isolated, and then fig samples with and without the wasps, and some introduced samples. The presence of multiple species of fig makes that more unlikely, but still…"

"I'm pretty sure I only understood a quarter of what you just said," said Sam. "I'm familiar with the words, but the combination of, say, 'jungle' and 'homicidal killing fits' keeps on sending my mind listing off at right angles."

"You dealt okay with 'giant alien robot cars,' said Mikaela cheerfully.

"Are you _joking_? I _freaked out_."

oOo

After dinner, Sam and Mikaela snuck over to the Autobots' building.

"Hey, Bee!" Sam said, flopping down next to the robots' foot. "Where's Ratchet? And Solarity, looks like."

"They went to get more samples, and to check out some sort of weird signal we got," he shrugged. "Nothing major. It was probably a malfunction from a satellite—that's my guess—or something twitched around by solar radiation. Still, somebody needed to head out anyway—the science group voiced a request for it. They want to check if it's nocturnal."

The robots were all in their bipedal forms, scattered throughout the single large room that made up the building; they were mostly concentrated at one end, although Landslide had stuck himself as far in one corner as he could get, facing the wall, and was sitting there leaking righteous angst. Ironhide was doing something to one of his cannons, probably cleaning it—he was looking slightly aggrieved, and he kept on shooting moderately annoyed glances at Prime, who was sitting with his eyes 'off,' something Sam and Mikaela had come to recognize as the Autobot version of Sleep. Gyro, the little red, silver and black one, was sitting still as well, though his eyes were the dimmed version that meant his attention was on something else—an unvocalized conversation, or he was browsing the Internet, or something similar; every so often he would laugh slightly, apparently at nothing.

"You free?" asked Sam.

"Sure. Why are you two here?"

"Nothing, we just wanted to talk. What's it like here?"

"Nice to be out of car-form, for a change. But there's not much to do, while we're waiting around all day… It looked like Ironhide and Solarity were going to start fighting over who got to go collect samples. You?"

"Hey, we didn't tell you about what we got told during dinner! What do you remember about what that woman said, Mikaela?"

oOo

Solarity wasn't an expert at Earth-related matters, but he thought that something was wrong.

The two of them—Ratchet and himself—were pushing their way through the dense jungle. Ratchet had grumbled most of the trip, but had fallen silent a while ago. Solarity was inclined to agree with his complaints—the forest floor was too rough and crowded for Ratchet's alt-form, and his own could only manage above the forest canopy, but it was by no means easy going; vegetation kept on getting stuck in their joints, and trees kept on getting in their way. Plus, he got the distinct impression that they were leaving a swathe of destruction behind them, which just generally rankled. Solarity didn't like feeling like a damned Decepticon, for one, or the idea that anything with half-working visuals could follow them easily.

And, again, he really thought that there was something wrong with this forest.

Preliminary research had seemed to imply that tropical rainforests were crowded with life, even by the standards of an organic planet as heavily populated as Earth. This place, however… It wasn't barren, by any stretch of the imagination, but all there seemed to be was vegetation, no animals at all—not even insects hiding in the thick leaf litter, or in the trees, and he had checked, after he hadn't noticed anything with more casual searches.

At least none of the plants were moving. What he'd seen the day he'd rescued Maria and her mother, Raquel, had been…disturbing.

All this silence wasn't helping, but he couldn't bring himself to break it by saying something to Ratchet—the thought of missing something because he was distracted was worse than the tension, at the moment.

Still. This was damned creepy. It didn't help that he was, just slightly, what the humans had termed 'claustrophobic.' He was made for _flying_, for open air, not this dense, crowded, humid, strangely empty, totally silent snarl of vegetation.

Sudden movement, a sharp rustle of bushes to the left of him, made him snap around, cannons out, but there didn't seem to be anything. That didn't help; the forest itself wouldn't show up in any of his sensors unless it was actively moving; then he _might_ get a visual, and a Decepticon could possibly have cloaking abilities.

Ratchet had caught it too, his own weapons out; the two slowly circled so that they were roughly back-to-back. There was another vague rustle, at the very end of Solarity's ability to hear it, and he turned sharply to look at it; again, there was nothing there.

…and then there was. It was eerie; the Transformer that had appeared was showing up on visual filters only, showing a complete blank for everything else until he dropped the shielding he had up.

Solarity could only hope that he was the only one, because if there was someone else waiting behind them, completely hidden by the same (highly advanced) programming this one had, they were screwed.

Only the fact that the new-comer had his arms in the most inoffensive position possible—crossed and slightly lowered, but held a little ways away from the body—kept him from shooting him. He could feel Ratchet shifting a little beside him, and knew he was as bothered by this situation as he was himself.

"Who are you?" Ratchet demanded, his own weapons fully out. "Name your alliance, and be convincing."

The newcomer spoke a string of Cybertronian words: his own name and his previous commander's name, and his position. His voice was flat and near-emotionless, even with the pitch changes of spoken Cybertronian.

"Who are your teammates?" broke in Solarity.

"Were. Another member of the team betrayed us. An attempted attack was intercepted and the rest of the team lost. Among the dead, other than the leader, are…" He listed off five more names. "I was the only survivor. I came to earth as per Optimus Prime's request."

Next to him, Ratchet's eyes flickered slightly with the exchange of data.

"Gyro confirms his story," said Ratchet finally. "And the visual matches."

Hesitantly, Solarity dropped his cannon, but didn't put it away; the forest still had him pretty spooked.

Still. "It wasn't so much a request as an invitation, wasn't it?" he said. The other Autobot remained silent. After a minute, he flicked one of his wing-blades slightly to the side, the Cybertronian equivalent of a shrug.

…and then he swore as it banged into a tree, loosening a vine enough that it slid into the joint. "Aaagh. Fuckit. Stupid human forest, was better off in Middle of Nowhere, Space…"

"Stop moving it!" hissed Ratchet, sounding aggrieved. "You're going to jam something permanently. Let me see it." He fiddled around a little before eventually drawing the piece of creeper out. "There."

"This is a potentially hazardous and un-ideal location," observed the newcomer.

Ratchet scowled.

"There's something weird going on here, and we're helping the humans," explained Solarity. "Apparently, one of their native species has changed its behaviors in extreme and unexpected ways… And what's your name, anyways? Code-name, that is. None of the organics here can manage Cybertronian. They've got no vocal range."

"Coldfront," he said simply, after a moment of reflection.

"Right. Here, I'm Solarity and that's Ratchet. There's a handful more of us back at the—well, base, for lack of a better word. First there's the leader, Optimus Prime…"

oOo

The sky had been clear, but clouds were beginning to wisp back over the expanse of black emptiness and stars. It was going to rain.

A single bat flitted overhead. Something had cleared the forest here, shoved its way through it—it would have had to have been a _large_ something—and revealed a normally-hidden pool of stagnant water. Usually, there would have been insects.

There were none, and there were no other bats. There were no birds, no snakes, no rodents. No fish in the stagnant pool. No animals at all. No _movement_ at all, except for the sway of the forest in the breeze.

It didn't stop swaying even once the wind died, though, and now it was tossing as if there was a gale blowing through.

The bat died hungry, pierced through by a thin tendril that arced upwards and into him and then went suddenly limp, falling back into the jungle with its prize. Other tendrils snaked their way towards it, pierced it until it was shot through with a web of greenery.

Slowly, what was left of the bat began to fall apart. That was normal; there were a lot of bats, and so bats died a lot, and when they did they slowly decomposed back into the jungle floor.

The growth of the vines slowed, then stopped. Delicate feeding rootlets wove their way through and around every cell in the bats body. Something began to push against the fragile skin, and grew uncontested through the gaping holes of the bat's eyes, mouth, nose, ears.

It would be days, but it would bear fruit eventually, in the nutrient-rich broth of decomposition.

oOo

Around 10 the next morning, the casual chatter and at-ease relaxation of the Autobots was interrupted by Sam and Mikaela bumping their way into the room with a small ladder.

They were followed by one of the scientists—Irene Gray, the brown-haired, middle-aged botanist. She was chewing on a pen and trying to type and walk at the same time, holding a laptop that was advanced (by earth standards) clutched in one hand while the other pecked at the keys.

The few greetings that had sprung up at the two teenagers' entrance died down, and the extra attention riveted itself to the newcomer.

She looked up, eyes slow to focus. "Hello," she said vaguely, then turned back to her keyboard. After a few minutes she frowned, then slipped a pair of glasses out of her front pocket, putting them on.

The botanist wandered her way through the tangle of Autobot limbs, ending up next to the ladder, facing the blank, beige-ish wall.

The entire room was still focused on what she was doing.

The laptop was deposited on one of the ladder steps; the scientist herself was a few rungs off the floor. The pen was slipped out of her mouth and into one of her jeans pockets; a black marker was taken out of another pocket to replace it.

She studied the wall, and then she started writing on it.

oOo

Two hours later, Irene's section of wall was looking considerably fuller.

She capped the marker with a slight _pop!_, then stretched, yawning, before starting to climb back down the ladder. She turned to find herself the center of attention for two humans and three Autobots, the latter making her jump slightly.

The two groups stared at each other silently for a few minutes.

"…What were you _doing_?" said Sam finally.

"Arranging the data in a visually sensible manner," said Irene brightly.

"She's crazy," said a darkly disapproving voice behind him. Sam jumped. "Despite that," continued the speaker—William Curtis, the older botanist—"she's highly effective, so we put up with her."

"And you're so kind for doing so," drawled the woman. "I never did fit in with stodgy academia."

"Is this a usual human interaction?" said Solarity quietly, leaning closer to Bumblebee.

"I don't know," he replied, equally quietly. "I don't think so."

The two scientists were now eyeing each other. "Here's the data you requested," said William finally.

"You're too kind, Professor Curtis," said Irene.

"You taught her?" asked Mikaela.

"She was one of my first students, and one of my last. It's not a coincidence. Now, I'm going to go get some lunch, before you eat up the rest of my free time waiting for the others to finish setting up their control boxes. I'll see you later, Irene, and I want your report on the danger of this spreading sent to the rest of us when it's finished."

"Yes, whatever you say. Hmmm. It _is_ lunch time, though. Would one of you mind getting me some coffee and maybe something to eat?"

oOo

Sam had finished his lunch and Mikaela was still picking at what remained of hers when she suddenly spoke up. "Wait," she said slowly, looking up at Bumblebee. "Who's that over there?"

"Ah," he said. "That would be the strange signal we picked up yesterday. His name is Coldfront."

"Like the weather pattern?" said Sam. "How _did_ you come up with your codenames, anyways?"

"We pick them," said Bumblebee, shrugging his doors.

"Can we meet him?" asked Mikaela.

"He's—sleeping." Sam and Mikaela had both learned to interpret that as the Cybertronian equivalent to something—not quite the same, but the general idea close enough that they used the human term. "You'll probably meet him later. He's very… Something. Business-like? Not much of a personality."

Sam had the strong impression that Bee didn't actually like the Autobot that much, but didn't really have anything against him—unlike his relationship with Landslide. If he was as 'businesslike' as Bee had said, than it was probably just that they were very different personalities. Bumblebee tended more towards the casual, fun-loving side of things.

"Oh."

"There really are a lot of you showing up recently…" Mikaela said musingly.

"Yeah, it is kind of funny. Just one of those coincidences, I guess."

"And it could be worse! There _could_ be a plague of Decepticons."

"Huh," said Irene, who had wandered over, half a sandwich and a cup of coffee in her hands. "Decepticons. The 'decepti' bit is clearly meant to bring to mind 'deception,' but 'con' is an altered pronunciation of the prefix 'com,' meaning with or together. Not the meaning that you'd expect."

Half the room gave her an odd look.

"Or at least, that's what one of the soldiers who's helping out in the main lab says. I think his name's Cahler, or something like that." She had a smile that was verging on a smirk on her face. "Thanks for getting me lunch, Sam."

And then she walked off again.

"Makes Maggie and Glen look almost normal," said Mikaela reflectively.

oOo

Irene looked over her diagram and winced slightly.

The first step had been to draw out the family tree. The second step had been to outline affected plants in red.

Most of the local caprifigs were red.

That was _bad_.

She was preoccupied enough that she didn't notice that her mug was slipping sideways—at least, until she spilled hot-enough-to-scald coffee down her arm, making her yelp and try to jerk to the side—not a good idea on a rickety ladder.

Irene had the brief sensation of falling before she was caught.

"Guh," she said, the wind getting forced out of her lungs. "Oof. Uh, thanks?"

She looked up (and up!) at the form that had caught her—it wasn't someone that she had been introduced to before.

"Thank you?" she squeaked. Damn. So much for composure.

"You are welcome," said the looming black figure, voice almost a monotone, essentially emotionless. He seemed to ooze potential threat and a sense of barely-contained fighting energy.

The hand shifted underneath her until she was essentially being gripped by the creature, instead of simply resting in her palm. She was set down safely, if not gently—she thumped into the ground pretty solidly, another pained noise escaping her mouth. Above her, the figure seemed to frown.

"My apologies," he said. "I had not meant to hurt you. I am new to earth, and still—adapting."

"It's no problem," she said cheerfully. "You _did_ save me from what would have been a pretty nasty fall, and _that_ was entirely my own fault. If anyone's to blame, it's me. I'm Irene, it's nice to meet you."

She was no expert at robot body language, but this one seemed slightly surprised—the eyes had dimmed a little, briefly, and he'd drawn back—again, just a little. Something around the face had shifted.

"…I am Coldfront," he said finally.

oOo

Irene was still seated on the ladder with her laptop, tapping determinedly away at it, only pausing to look up to reference the chart on the wall, when one of the lab assistants, Louise Brant, burst into the room, slowing only briefly at the sudden attention of the giant robots.

"Ms. Gray!" said the woman. "You're needed in the lab. We've got a cause."

"What?" she said, looking up, eyes suddenly sharp and intense. "Really? What is it?"

"Cordyceps," the woman said, looking just _slightly_ unnerved. The eyes of several of the Autobots dimmed; they were probably looking the word up online.

"Cordyceps, Cordyceps," Irene muttered. "I don't think I'm familiar with it."

"Mr. Curtis said you might say that, then said to ask you if you remembered the 'mind-fungus.'"

"_Fuck_," said Irene, almost conversationally, climbing down the ladder before heading in the direction of the lab at a dead run.

"Mind-fungus?" said Sam.

"The Cordyceps are a genus of fungus, found world-wide, that parasitize live insects. They've been shown to exert a primitive form of mind-control," offered Solarity.

"_Ewww_," said Mikaela, looking seriously disturbed. "Wait, I thought we were dealing with figs? Not insects. Unless it's the fig-hornets again?"

"No, it's just the figs. That's the problem," said Louise, who had paused to catch her breath. She sounded grim.

oOo

Sam and Mikaela walked through the temporary lab's door and into chaos.

Closest to them was John Keller, who was shouting into a cell phone, trying to be heard over the noise that filled the rest of the room.

"—arles Cleve. That's c as in cat, l as in law, e as in elephant, v as in veronica and e as in elephant again. He's a mycologist. …No, that's not a made-up science. And _yes _he's not in the on-call science records, I already told you that, he's too specialized. …We need him now. Find him. …No, I don't want another of your goddamned opinions! Just find him and get him to Brazil!"

On the other side of the room, two of the scientists—Kristine and William Curtis—where in a loud shouting match; Keats Anders, the quiet biologist, seemed to be trying to calm them down. George Tanaka, the lab assistant who had seemed slightly nervous before (although he was perfectly calm now) was helping Evan, the athletic botanist, lift a sealed glass aquarium with a fig plant in it; it was one of the many now covering the counter-tops. They were being directed by Louise. Irene and the zoologist, Toni Martinez, were in one corner; the botanist was dictating notes, and Toni was scribbling them down furiously. A handful of soldiers were in the room as well, trying to get information and orders on containment of possibly threatening samples from the harried Keats.

"Oh my _God_," said Mikaela. Sam was inclined to agree with her analysis, and was about to say as much before there was a loud explosion behind them, from another building.

'Decepticons,' mouthed Mikaela at Sam, and they both took off at a dead run, ignoring Keller, who was helplessly gesturing at both of them to stay where they _were_, damn it, incapable of saying anything more while still arguing with the government lackey he had ended up talking to.

The building housing the Autobots had no smoking holes in the side—or not in _one_ side, at least. Sam was moderately surprised.

He followed Mikaela as she shouldered through the door and into a frozen tableau.

Ratchet and Solarity each had a grip on the arms of a new Transformer—not Coldfront, an even _newer_ one—and Bumblebee and Ironhide both had their guns out and trained on the newcomer's face and chest. Prime was poised for action, and Gyro, surprisingly, had sprouted a dangerous-looking collection of blades; for once, he wasn't laughing, or even smiling. Landslide was tense, guns of his own ready for action and eyes narrowed, one of Prime's hands on his shoulder apparently the only thing keeping him from going for the new robot's throat. Coldfront had his own guns aimed firmly at the mech's back, looking cool and dangerous.

The new Transformer himself was steely gray, his features more inhuman than those of the Autobots'. He wasn't struggling, staying loose and unresponsive in the grip of his captors. The still-smoking crater in the floor had clearly been the source of the explosion; surprisingly, it looked like it had been caused by Landslide, not Ironhide.

Slowly, Bumblebee was inching towards the two teenagers, shifting himself in-between the captive Transformer and the humans.

"Who are you?" said Optimus Prime, voice commanding.

"Nimbus," said the voice, the word shivering slightly with some repressed emotion. The word was followed by a brief spurt of Cybertronian neither of the humans could even fully hear.

"And what are you doing here?" The questioning continued.

"I was replying to your message," said the robot carefully.

"Why would a Decepticon want to live peacefully with _organics_?" snapped Landslide, voice taught and angry.

"I'm not a Decepticon."

The room was quiet enough that Sam could hear the creak of metal as Bee shifted slightly.

"You're of Decepticon design," said Optimus, voice carefully blank.

"I won't deny it." There was more silence.

Landslide growled wordlessly, then spoke. "Just tell whatever lies you're going to spill so we can get on with it," he snarled.

"I was once a Decepticon," said Nimbus, voice quiet and unemotional except for that deep undercurrent of—_something_. "I… Came to realize the error of my ways, and forcibly left the Decepticon forces." There was a quiet finality to his carefully-chosen words.

"Are you willing to have our medic verify that?" asked Optimus. In response, the newcomer bent down, armored plates shifting to expose the back of his neck; Sam and Mikaela were baffled.

Ratchet moved away from his arm to be replaced by Coldfront; he bent over the mech, until he was obscured from Sam's view entirely. There were a few clanks, then silence.

"He's telling the truth or he doesn't know he's lying," said Ratchet finally, straightening. He was frowning. "But I don't like this—five new Autobots and not a whiff of Decepticons? And one's definitely been allied with the Decepticons before."

Optimus Prime looked at the imprisoned robot for a few more seconds.

"Release him," he said finally. Landslide gave a snort of disgust, but Coldfront and Solarity both took a careful step away from the Autobot. The ex-Decepticon.

"You can tell Autobots from Decepticons by their form?" said Sam, looking up at Bee as he asked the question.

"Yes," he replied, sounding slightly startled. "You can't?"

"Well, they're maybe a little—spikier…"

"We can't read human subtleties, and they can't read ours," said Ratchet grumpily. "But to answer your question, Sam, you can't, not always. Some are definite, like Nimbus there, but types designed for a certain aesthetic and, more to the point, 'bots designed for spying, will run more along 'neutral' lines. There's not any design recognized as specific to the Autobots, I believe."

"And what did you do?" continued Mikaela. "When you bent over him. Nimbus, that is."

"There are signs of lying or deception that get burned into the—short-term memory, for lack of a better word, for a few minutes after it's happened. You can see the after-burn of the program running, basically. You can observe it to decipher truthfulness. Of course, if someone doesn't _want_ to show you the back of their heads… It takes a little training to recognize, on top of that."

"_Oh_…" said Sam. "Weird."

Gyro was laughing again.

Again, the door was banged open and allowed to fall shut. "**What** is going on?" demanded Keller, who was followed into the room by full squadron of armed soldiers, looking around the room at the ever-increasing number of Autobots, the two humans behind Bumblebee, the presence of a smoking crater and the still-clearly-evident guns (and blades) on most of the Autobots.

"There was a _slight_ misunderstanding," said Gyro brightly from the corner.

Optimus sighed. "This is Nimbus, an ex-Decepticon. There was some confusion arising from that, but we believe he is safe and fully reformed. He will be watched until we're sure, of course. The situation has been dealt with, and Landslide will be reprimanded for acting so out of turn." The tan robot was sulking determinedly in the corner, even sulkier than normal.

"An _ex_-Decepticon, you say?" said John Keller sharply.

"It's been known to happen," said Ironhide doubtfully.

Bumblebee had slipped back out of his face-mask and put the gun away, and was now eyeing the newcomer with interest and a slight amount of caution. It was nothing compared to the soldiers surrounding the Secretary of Defense, who were looking positively terror-stricken. Sam guessed that they had been witness to the final battle between the Decepticons and the Autobots, and all that that had involved.

He, himself, was fairly leery of the idea of _anyone_ who had been connected to the Decepticons being trusted. Of course, his girlfriend had had a criminal record and he had been personally involved in a case of grave insubordination and threatened murder against a secret government agency and its members… And that wasn't involving the time his involvement has sicced giant robots on them.

Was it really insubordination if it had been allowed to happen by the Secretary of Defense?

Still, he wasn't going to trust the situation entirely. He believed in Optimus Prime and the Autobots, but he died a whole lot easier than they did. He would _squish_ if he got stepped on.

The tense situation was interrupted by Keller's cell phone ringing. "Hello?" he said, picking it up. "Good. _Finally_. And you're sure it's him? Yes, that sounds right. I want him flown— You've already got him on the plane? Excellent. Thank you. No, it's a relief to work with someone who's competent. Good."

He hung up, looking like some of his burden had lifted. "We've got a mycologist!" he exclaimed.

"Myco-what'sit?" asked Sam.

--End Chapter 5--


	6. Chapter 6

**Alien  
****Chapter Six  
**By Dreaming of Everything

**Disclaimer**: I do not won Transformers in any way, shape or form.

**Important: ****Chapter Five has been rewritten**. While it's probably not _essential_ that you go reread it, I'd recommend it. Certain details in this chapter will make slightly more sense, there's some changes related to characterization and character development and I think (hope?) the over-all quality has been improved. Thank you, **Epona Harper**, for pointing out how I could improve! I owe you so many times over by now.

**Author's Notes**: Thanks also go to **Cavaranka** for being a general inspiration in more ways than I can count. Further thanks to **Kyarorin** for giving me the encouragement to put in more Nimbus, although we won't see that until next chapter. Thanks to **Cazcatharsis** on LJ for an offer to help me with fight scenes, which I will _need_. Thanks to **Riana1**, for being a truly dedicated reviewer and PMing me. Yaaay, contact! Thanks to **Attaya (**theAnonymouse for one of the best reviews I have ever received, hands-down. (Did you get the email I sent?) General thank-yous to everyone who reviewed, favorited, alerted, C2'd, recced, archived or even just read at all. You guys all rock!

I got stuck in probably five different places writing this chapter, no joke. It was a really tricky one to write. I ended up splitting it in half (_again_) to keep the length down and things reasonable. Believe it or not. Another long chapter anyways—26 pages.

oOoOoOo

When Sam and Mikaela walked into the Autobots' room the next morning, Landslide's corner had been vacated and replaced with a series of clear prisms and cubes, all filled with leaves, branches, greenery and dirt; some of them were hooked up to containers of gas, and some had complicated-looking trap doors, or connections to other cubes.

"Hey, Bee! What's going on?" Sam said, heading in the direction of the Autobot

The door swung open and shut behind the two humans as they started walking away, making them jump. Bumblebee looked faintly amused.

"Toni's dissecting dead animals, and it wasn't making a work environment conducive to experimentation," said Irene, as Sam and Mikaela turned to look at her.

"Uhh…"

"So I moved. This place has the added bonus of having less William. Stuffy old fart…" The door re-opened again, a few more people stepping in—again. "Hello there, Professor William! Fancy meeting you here. Hello, Mr. Secretary. Kristine."

"You're too kind, Irene."

"Mind showing us around, Irene?" said Keller, looking slightly sour. "I want a sense of what you're looking at, and what your preliminary data shows, if anything. And keep your bickering in control, Curtis and Gray. I was up half the night talking my security detail into letting me stay here—I think I'm of most use here at the frontlines, so to speak, but my head guard disagrees."

"Respectfully speaking, Mr. Secretary, sir," drawled Irene, "I got four hours of sleep last night—between two and six in the morning—because I was designing and then assembling controlled experiments. I don't think you have much room to talk about how much sleep you did or didn't get."

"Good point. My apologies."

"How much sleep do humans need to function?" interjected Solarity brightly from overhead.

"Depends!" said Irene, voice equally chipper. "I can run on two hours but not for any longer than two days in a row—three tops. On four hours I'm good for a week, but I'm told that my personality ends up shot to hell."

William snorted expressively. "And she's more than enough as things are."

"What did I tell you two?"

"Ah ah ah! I disproved your point. You have no room to talk!"

"The order still stands. It's one of the perks of being Secretary of Defense."

Irene opened her mouth as if to say something and paused for a second before shutting it and then opening it to speak again. "You know, that… That's a really good point. Damn."

"We were going to look at the experiments?" prompted Kristine, smothering a yawn. "Because I was in bed at three this morning, and _I_ can feel it. Also, people start hallucinating after—I think it's 48 hours without sleep."

"Why are you even here?" said Irene with a frown.

"I'm your new lab assistant. There's not much else I can do… Toni's covering the animals, and I don't have enough of a basing in working with plants to be much help elsewhere, and Louise and George are painfully overworked."

"Ah. That makes sense… Okay, I'm over here. Well, my experiments are. Kind of obviously so, but still…"

"Can we come, too?" asked Mikaela.

"Since you're already this involved, I suppose it wouldn't hurt," said Keller with a sigh. "Not that I'm not regretting it. And you'd just have Bumblebee record it and play it back for you later, anyways."

Bumblebee's door-wings shook slightly with sheer hilarity.

"Over _here_," said Irene pointedly from halfway across the room. The other humans—Sam, Mikaela, Keller, Kristine, William and Keller's three guards—began to follow her, occasionally skirting an Autobot limb or two. Bee, in his alternate mode to make movement easier in the cramped space, followed them. A few other Autobot heads—Solarity's, Gyro's and Ratchet's—turned with some interest to follow their progress.

"Where's Landslide?" said Sam to Bee in a quiet aside, trying to keep from attracting the attention of the main group of humans, who were walking slightly ahead of him and Mikaela.

"Optimus sent him out on patrol," said Bumblebee. "He wasn't getting along well with Nimbus, even after Ratchet yelled at them both and restricted them to opposite sides of the building after Gyro got stepped on."

"Has Nimbus been causing problems?" said Mikaela, looking slightly worried.

"Well, mostly Landslide's been causing problems, and Nimbus's been the focus of them all. He got sent out as well, but that was just because his rotation was up."

"Do you think we can trust him?" asked Sam, frowning. He still had memories of Barricade tracking him down, way back before he had met Bumblebee properly. He still had nightmares about that meeting, actually…

Bumblebee's engine revved quietly with frustration. "I… Don't know. It's hard to trust a Decepticon, after everything we've been through in the war, but I want to believe in redemption…"

"I know that feeling," said Mikaela dryly. "You know what? It's the truth when they say that a bad boyfriend won't ever change. It's taken me a few tries to realize that, though…"

Sam sighed.

The two humans stepped forward to rejoin the main group as they reached the designated lab area. Behind them, Bumblebee transformed again so he could look in over their heads.

"Basically," Irene was saying, "I'm trying to ascertain how, exactly, this fungus-fig hybrid behaves. I'm not focusing on the why of things, just what it does—when does it move? What sets it off? When does it go after animals? How long is its lifecycle? What _is_ its life cycle? Does it behave cooperatively—God I hope not—or does it work independently? Will it compete with itself? How does it spread? What happens when it dies? That sort of thing."

"Ambitious," muttered Kristine, although her tone sounded fairly neutral, neither approving nor disapproving.

"Each of this set of boxes is set up with varying numbers of live, infected fig cuttings. Some have been put into a box singly, others in sets of two, five or ten. This set has been put into container sets so that there's an exchange of gasses between the two chambers, but the plants themselves are isolated from the other. These are basically the same as the first group but I can alter the ratio of carbon dioxide to oxygen in the chambers.

"And over here—" she gestured at the boxes with the complicated-looking extra array hanging off of the sides "—we have the boxes we can stick live prey into."

"Why not just lift off the lid to stick one in?" said Sam. "That looks kind of pointlessly complicated…"

"Hah," said Kristine indistinctly from behind him, sounding vaguely smug.

"We don't want the possibility that this can spread any more than it already has," explained Irene. "And we have eyewitness reports that this goes after people, making opening the boxes just plain a bad idea, huh? To demonstrate…"

Irene reached under the table and withdrew a small Tupperware container. She opened the lid on the smaller box sticking to the larger one—not the one with the fig plant in it—and dumped the contents in: a small mouse. She closed the door and locked it, a small seal activating as she finished entering the combination for it. She pressed a button, and the inner door rose, opening the two cubes up to each other. The mouse scurried out onto the dirt of the other cube.

Quickly—far faster than any plant should be able to move, Sam thought—a viny branch of fig snapped out to impale the mouse, making Keller jump a little and Mikaela stifle a startled scream. Sam instinctively jumped backwards at the sudden movement, but he shifted closer to look around the splash of obscenely red blood on the clear wall of the cube. The fig plant neighboring the one that had killed it joined in on the first plant's attempts to lift the mouse carcass higher, then quickly covered it in vines. Within minutes, not a single scrap of hair could be seen. Even the splashed blood, rapidly drying, had a tendril reaching for it.

"Aaagh," said Sam, shivering slightly.

"I'd use insects of some sort," said Irene with a slight frown, "you know, to be less graphic, but there's too much potential for contamination. Cordyceps is _supposed_ to affect insects—and not like this—so we've been told to stick to mammal-only research subjects. We're also using a special super-hard material—not sure what, just that it is—for the boxes, so that there's no danger of them prying them open. And the seams are airtight and then some."

"If it can jump from insects to plants, can't it make the jump from plants to mammals just as easily?" said Mikaela with a frown.

"If it _does_ do that, we're fucked," said Irene cheerfully. "Starting with all of us. Everyone in this building would probably come down with a case of raving plant crazy within a few days because of the level of exposure we've all had. There's a fair chance that all of South America would end up entirely quarantined."

"Stop dealing with stress via flippancy," growled Curtis, frowning at her over the rims of his glasses.

"Hmph. Anyways, this set of boxes has varying combinations of infected and non-infected, and we'll be looking at how _that_ affects things. These set-ups over here should also help identify how, exactly, it spreads, not just _if_ it spreads. I've got infected plants sharing airspace with uninfected samples but with a barrier between them in the dirt, and ones that can only touch below ground to look at the opposite. One set has air exchange between the two containers, but no way to form physical contact. These plants are getting irrigated with water that's been run through the root system of an infected plant. I'm swapping little parasitic insects small enough to escape the plants' notice between these sets. We're trying a few different types of insects, including appropriate fig wasps, assuming I can get my hands on some. Louise is looking into it through a few suppliers. And of course there's the controls—these are just figs and infected figs, respectively, nothing really altered from the jungle environment.

"I've got the same purpose with these over here, but this is more to see if the fungus spreads in the traditional Cordyceps manner: a fruiting body that extends from the host after it's died from the infection. These plants have been cut off from their root system, to see how that affects things, and what it ends up looking like as it decomposes. The ones over there are just being kept in a variety of conditions, to see if we can find one that's ideal, hopefully making it go through its lifecycle faster and fruit faster—assuming that's the case."

"It was easier when I just had to understand that giant robots wanted my grandfather's glasses," Sam whispered to Mikaela. She nudged him slightly with an arm, then pointed at the wall. Next to Irene's old diagram of infected fig species was a new table, one that hadn't been filled in.

"I guess she's still writing on the wall, then," Sam whispered again, earning a slightly dirty look from the guard closest to them. One of the others—he looked oddly familiar—gave them a slight grin behind the other soldiers' back. Without looking behind him at all, the third soldier gave him a sharp jab in the ribs with his elbow.

Behind them, a slightly mechanical voice giggled. Sam and Mikaela both jumped a little, along with Kristine; the three twisted around to see Gyro, who seemed to be fighting to keep his laughter under control.

"But aren't the Cordyceps fungus a species-specific organism?" he said, voice raised loud enough that the whole group could hear. Irene looked up from where she was discussing what sort of budget and supplies she needed with Keller and frowned a little at the Autobot.

"Yes, that's another one of the problems. Because if it was just, say, strangler figs that were being infected, that would be one thing. But with this we think there's a real danger that it won't just stay with figs, since it's become this infectious already—but I'm not the one looking at that. I think that's what Evan's doing, along with containment strategies if it does become more universally spread. And you're looking at herbicides and fungicides, right, Professor?"

He nodded. "And Antonio is looking at the carcasses of the dead animals we've been able to retrieve. Kristine—as you know—and Keats Anders have been divvied up to help with those projects. I think Keats is scheduled to help with you with your projects this evening, Irene."

"That wasn't the best idea ever…" muttered Kristine softly.

"Why?" Mikaela asked. "Does he not get along well with Irene or something?"

"No, that's fine. I think he's actually the only one in this group—except maybe Evan—who doesn't have difficulties getting along with anyone."

"Kristine?" said Irene dryly. "I've seen the arguments you two get into. Don't try to get away with that one."

"Okay, it really is just Evan who gets along with everyone, unless Toni's gotten over his problems with you, Irene. Of course, there's still the chance Evan will develop some sort of antagonistic relationship once he gets over his hero-worship…"

"She's really _good_ at dodging questions," said Gyro quietly, so just Sam, Mikaela—and, of course, the other Autobots—and maybe the guards could hear. His voice sounded nearly respectful, over the ever-present undercurrent of humor.

"Oh, well," sighed Mikaela. "I guess we'll find out eventually anyways."

oOo

"We really should go on a road trip some day," Sam said from where he was sitting, curled up with Mikaela on one of Bumblebee's legs. The three of them were in the corner closest to the (human) door in the Autobot building, as it had been termed. "It would be fun! Just the three of us."

"You know, I've never dated someone who'd suggest bringing his best friend on a trip with his girlfriend before," said Mikaela with a smile.

"Yeah, but the best friend's the ride. Anyways, _you_ know what I'm talking about. And at least one of the guys you've dated before wouldn't let you drive at _all_."

"That's it! I knew there was a reason I liked you. Your best friend is a kick-ass car and lets me drive him."

There was a brief pause.

"…I really didn't mean that to sound the way it sounded."

"Mi_kae_la—"

"Well, it's not your arms or your brains, certainly. It has to be the car."

"You mean it wasn't convincing you to go save the world from giant evil alien robots? And what about my wonderful personality?"

"There _is_ that. Trent hasn't saved the world, to my knowledge."

"_I_ think it's the car," cut in Bumblebee cheerily.

"Yes, but you may be biased. Just a little. _Slightly_."

"I also helped save the world."

"My best friend who's also my car's going to end up stealing my girlfriend," said Sam with a sigh, looking morose. "Miles is going to die of laughter."

"Well, you've got one real advantage that I can think of," said Mikaela, voice thoughtful.

"What?" said Sam.

"Bee, to my knowledge, can't do _this._" She leaned over and kissed him.

"Mmmm…"

They were interrupted by one large hand suddenly—and implacably—picking them up and setting them gently on the ground beside him. Sam sighed, head falling to rest against Mikaela's shoulder. "Bee, we've been over this. No matter what the Internet tells you, me and Mikaela aren't going to get 'reproductive fluids' all over you or anything—"

Bumblebee ignored them, rising fluidly to a standing position. "_If you've got leavin' on your mind,_" (1) crooned his radio.

A few seconds later part of the wall across from them slid up. "Oh! So _that's_ how you guys get in and out of here!" said Mikaela softly, before falling quiet. Bumblebee's mood was catching.

A silvery-gray car pulled in. 'Nimbus?' Mikaela mouthed at Sam. He nodded his agreement.

The door slid shut behind the ex-Decepticon, and it slowly shifted upwards into the bipedal form. Bumblebee carefully stepped in front of the two humans, his position defensive.

Almost subconsciously, the two humans entwined their hands. Neither of them had good memories when it came to Decepticons, reformed or otherwise. Well, they didn't have _any_ memories when it came to reformed Decepticons, and that said something.

In the silence of the room, the _click_ of guns prepping could be clearly heard. "_Ironhide_," said Optimus warningly.

"Just making sure everything's in working order, sir."

"_Right_."

Again, that heavy silence fell. Nimbus seemed to be hesitant to move; when he finally did, the motions were hesitant and careful, like a human trying not to startle some animal they were observing. _Or a predator stalking its prey_, Sam's mind whispered, half-forgotten memories of documentaries his mom had forced him to sit through with her flashing through his head.

"Bumblebee, _stand down_," sighed Optimus when the mech continued to stand defensively above the two humans, pivoting slightly on his legs to follow the movements of Nimbus. "We're all on the same side, here, remember?"

Slowly, gaze still fixed on the other Transformer, Bumblebee sat back down. Nimbus slunk to one of the back corners—the one unoccupied by Irene and her experiments. He sat down as well, his back to the corner so he was facing the room, his head down-turned so he was mostly looking at the swathe of concrete flooring immediately in front of him.

Cautiously, the two humans crept out from behind Bumblebee's legs. "Huh," said Sam.

oOo

Optimus Prime looked up as the privately-sent message registered. _'May I have permission to offer assistance, sir?'_ the brief note said. It was from Coldfront.

'_Help who?'_ he replied, despite his gut instinct not to. It would only encourage this sort of behavior.

'_The scientist. Irene Gray.'_ the terse response came, after a short pause. It seemed the mech had had some difficulty formulating the reply, or something to that affect.

'_Why are you asking me?'_ he sent back.

'_As your inferior, it would be both impolite and possibly against orders to act in such a way. Especially when it is not my role to perform such assistance, and it is an alien species much more easily harmed. Discouraging contact is a valid choice of action, to prevent accidents, and I am unaware of your policies in many matters. Furthermore, we seem to cause distress to some of the humans, further complicating matters.'_

'_That was a rhetorical question. You weren't meant to take it seriously.'_

'_My apologies, sir.'_

'_Anyways, Coldfront, feel free to offer your assistance to whomever you want to, assuming that it doesn't jeopardize our position here.'_

The connection was cut off abruptly. After a few brief seconds, Coldfront made his way over to the improvised workstation.

"May I offer my assistance?" he said.

Irene jumped and shrieked. "Whoah," she said, turning around to face him. "I totally didn't hear you there. Or see you. Coldfront, right? I'm terrible with names, so sorry if I've got it wrong."

"No, you are correct. You appear to be having difficulty carrying these; may I be of use?"

Irene looked at him, slightly puzzled-looking, for a few seconds before she responded. "Suuure," she said, slowly. "Of _course_ you can help. And you're right—these boxes are a little on the heavy side. I can lift them, but I'm always afraid I'm going to drop them, probably onto one of my feet. I tend to be very good at managing to do things like that. Would you move all the ones with the red dots over to that new table? Thank you. This is very helpful of you."

"It's nothing."

"But still! Those boxes are distinctly on the heavy side for me. And there was no real reason you needed to help."

"I was not otherwise occupied, so I am not impacting anything else. It is a matter of courtesy on top of that, and offering help could potentially speed up your processes—if you were to drop an experimental set-up, it would set you back as well as have the potential to be dangerous."

"Like I said—reasoning and logic behind it aside, it was sweet of you. You should learn how to take a compliment!"

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a brief pause. "If you don't mind me asking, why is your speech so formal? None of the others seem to use it, from what I've seen…"

"It is partly the parallels between the forms I use in spoken Cybertronian and the forms I use in English; they are somewhat comparable. Mostly, it is because it is respectful."

Again, that pause. "So… Why are you using it with _me_?"

"You are a scientist, yes? Isn't that a highly-ranked position?"

"Not… particularly. Certainly not when it's me. You really don't have to, for the record."

Again, there was that heavy silence, stretching on for a few interminable minutes.

"Aaargh," said Irene finally. "I've got _ants_ contaminating my experiments!"

oOo

Keats walked into the building around five in the afternoon, jerked visibly at the door and dithered for a few minutes before slowly, hesitantly, making his way over towards Irene. He tended to speed up when he was close to an Autobot.

He laid down the plates he was carrying on the table, jumping again when they clanged loudly against the metal, then walked over to where Irene was poking at her boxes.

"Hello," he said softly, by way of greeting.

"Hello, there!"

"Which experimental set should I go look at? Is that still set C over there?"

"Nope. Coldfront got them all moved around for me—they weren't easy to access, the way they were set up. It was very helpful."

Keats winced. "And which one is Coldfront?"

Irene waved a hand in the appropriate direction. "He's the black one over there. He also saved me when I fell off my ladder!"

"Why did you fall off your ladder?"

"I spilled hot coffee on myself."

"Damn, you really are accident-prone," said Kristine loudly, appearing from behind another set of fig-filled boxes as she straightened up.

"_One_ of us here has caused three lab evacuations in a single day, and it's not me. Just saying."

"Your body chemicals indicate a high level of fear," said a voice—one that sounded vaguely amused—above their heads. All three humans looked up at the Autobot looking down at them, his attention focused on the male scientist in particular. Keats ended up biting down hard on his tongue in his efforts not to squeal like a little girl. He was a nervous sort of person, he would admit that, but even he had his limits. Behaving like his sister's kids was one of them.

"Ratchet, we _told_ you that that's really awkward and uncomfortable!" said Sam's voice from behind Bumblebee, a short distance away. "Don't worry, whoever he was talking to, we've had worse."

"None of my research indicates that that isn't allowed by human social customs. While I admit I was in error during our first meeting, Sam, this seems to be perfectly acceptable."

"M—me?" Keats managed to finally squeak out.

Kristine bristled, glaring at Ratchet. "I can assure you, it's outside social norms," she snapped.

"I told you, it's not addressed—"

"My guess is that it's not covered because, historically, nobody's going to be capable of measuring something to that extent without lots and lots of medical equipment and probably their consent, and even that's a recent development," said Irene with a grin.

Keats seemed to be trying to subtly back away from the Autobot closest to them, Ratchet, but an experiment-laden table was in his way.

"This is ridiculous," muttered Irene under her breath. "Kristine! Finish up what you were doing, and then fill in you data on the chart. Keats, I want you to check the conditions on all the set-ups, and make sure they match the specifications written on the side. Most are supposed to be set for average rainforest conditions for around here, but there's a few that differ, so double-check. Ratchet—that's your name, right?—we need to concentrate on this, so go somewhere else if you're going to be distracting. Kristine, the ladder's right over there, against the base of the wall. Do you need some help with it?"

A few minutes later the door clanged open again, Toni entering the room and striding across it towards the science labs. He had two plates of food in his hands as well, although he was quieter as he set them down.

"Hey, Irene," he said, with a charming smile. "I brought you some dinner."

Irene arched a single eyebrow. "Keats beat you to it."

"Well, I guess I'll have to make a pre-emptive strike—could I take you out for dinner sometime?"

"How're the wife and kid?" Irene shot back.

"I divorced one of those, and have the other holidays and school breaks."

"Well, that means you're only out of the running on one count, now, instead of two."

"Come _on_, Irene, dinner isn't a commitment! Unless you only share meals with men when they're proposing to you."

"I _told_ you, Antonio Miguel Martinez, I'm not looking for a relationship right now! Not with anyone, not at all!"

"Why do you know his middle name?" interjected Kristine; she was ignored.

"But you're not looking—_I'm_ the one who found _you_!"

A little ways away, Bumblebee muttered to Sam and Mikaela "Is this normal human behavior?"

"Pretty much. Which is kind of disturbing, actually…" Sam began.

"I think it might make more sense if we had more in terms of context," said Mikaela.

The argument continued. "You're infuriating! Why can't you just take 'no' for an answer?"

"Well, I'm sorry for trying! Not everyone's as bitter as you are."

"As bitter as I may be, you seem to keep on coming after me, anyways! And it's certainly not my beauty you're going after!"

"This—might not be the r-right place for this," managed Keats.

"Yeah. Does what we're up against mean nothing to you?" snapped out Kristine.

"Please, for the love of God, just _leave_," Irene ground out through gritted teeth. Toni glared, collected the two plates he'd brought, and stomped back out the door. Irene collapsed with a sigh.

"Welp, that answers my earlier question," said Kristine with a bright grin. "You _do_ still have your issue with Toni! Evan really _is_ the only one of us who gets along with everybody."

"Oh, just shut up and let me eat my dinner."

"Yes, Irene."

oOo

Nimbus pulled back in from a second 'patrol'—granted at his request, simply because he needed to get out and _move_—to find a sprawled-out human lying halfway between his corner and the human lab area. Not that it truly was _his corner_. He hadn't really been commanded to stay there or anything, he was just supposed to be in that half of the building—Landslide was relegated to the other half—and it was probably for the best, even though it hadn't been anything more than a suggestion, not even a real order. Nimbus didn't think that anyone (other than Landslide) would actually try to harm him, but his presence was definitely not welcome. That had been made more than clear—even Bumblebee had clearly thought he was a threat to the two organics who always seemed to be in the building, and he hadn't even bothered to hide his distrust. They weren't there at the moment; presumably, they had left to recharge—to sleep, that is. Even the other scientists had left, the two females. Irene Gray and Kristine Christopherson—that was their names.

So that just left this one human. Keats Anders. He'd been half-covered by a jacket, presumably to hold in warmth. Organics were startlingly fragile in that way. And these were the ones who _were_ able to regulate their body temperature, to a certain extent. It was incredible. The only other organic life he'd met had been just as sensitive, but their stable environment had made up for that.

He settled into his corner, as far away from the human as he could get. Bumblebee, he had the feeling, was most protective of the two humans he knew best, but that didn't necessarily mean much, and the other Autobots were also likely to view him as a possible threat to any human. Landslide, certainly, would leap at the chance to attack him, even if that 'chance' only translated to an unconscious human a little ways away.

oOo

Coldfront pulled into the building a few minutes later. He had to carefully pick his way through the other robots in recharge: they were scattered throughout the room, filling it fairly completely, and it was considered odd and culturally inappropriate to enter a sleep state too close to another. There weren't many spots left large enough for him to settle in for the rest of the night.

In fact, he could only find one. It was, he noticed with some alarm, disturbingly close to the laid-out body of one of the human scientists. A quick scan showed that the organic wasn't dead: there was a steady heartbeat and the lungs were working. Cross-referencing to the Internet showed that both were at acceptable speeds, and that nothing else seemed to be wrong with the man. The state was appropriate for sleep—much like recharge, adapted for an organic system.

This would have to do. There wasn't anywhere else, really, that was large enough to seem a comfortable space for him. It shouldn't be a problem…

oOo

Keats woke up in a narrow space hemmed in by the walls of the building and one gigantic metal arm. He had to work hard to swallow his panic.

_Now how to get out of this…?_

oOo

Coldfront was only vaguely aware of the suddenly-increased pressure on his arm before he was lurching into wakefulness, sending the body on him crashing to the ground to be covered with one massive hand as the other flipped into a cannon, lowered at the creature he was holding down and powered up, whirring menacingly, before he finally managed to process the fact that he had just attacked one of the humans. There was another near-automatic flurry of movement: he was off of the scientist and pressed back against the wall in another few split-seconds.

"I'm sorry," he said, not sure what else there was to say. "I— I didn't—"

Keats was shaking visibly, breath coming in gasps. Hyperventilation, research told the mech; when a human's breathing speeds up too much. Coldfront's hand, reaching out in an instinctive attempt to help, sent him lurching backwards, unbalancing him from his awkward position perched on his knees.

"O—oh God," the panicking human muttered, muscles tight. All around the room, Transformers were awakening, alerted by the sudden movement and noise.

Ratchet pushed his way forward, activating scans even before he was fully sitting. "Get another human," he snapped out, eyes still firmly fixed on the figure beneath him. "And a human medic, if there _is_ one authorized to enter here." His tone implied that there ought to be. "Just somebody _please_ get in touch with whoever it is who's our contact and get them over here, or get them to send people over here—"

For once, even Gyro seemed to know when to hold his tongue. Bumblebee looked worried, and Nimbus looked like he was trying, slightly desperately, to escape notice.

"Stay back, all of you," said Ratchet, silently this time, in written Cybertronian messages. "He's panicking. His fearful state has always been heightened compared to that of the other humans, and this just exacerbated it. We're going to need to _talk_ later, Coldfront. And put away your cannon. Actually, get going—go. Go! Run around the rainforest and look for changes or Decepticons or something like that. You're just making this worse. The rest of you, back off. It's us that's making him have this reaction, and crowding around him isn't going to help it."

Kristine entered the room at a dead run, making straight for the human, ignoring the Autobots completely with her haste. She dropped to her knees as she reached Keats' side, reaching out to him. He accepted it without hesitation, clutching at her almost painfully tight. The scientist ignored the tight grasp and the awkward position it forced her into, her voice low and soothing as she talked to her co-worker, not really saying anything of any importance.

The attention of every Autobot in the room was firmly riveted on the scene playing out in front of them.

A doctor entered a few minutes later, jumping slightly at the sight of the Autobots and the mechanical heads subtly following his entrance into the room. As he arrived at the two huddled scientists, Keats let go of Kristine, letting her fall back a little. He still looked a little shaky and nervous, but much better than he had been.

"I think everything should be okay," Kristine said, voice still calm—much calmer than he had ever heard her sound, Sam thought, as he approached the cluster of humans with Mikaela.

"Nothing's wrong with him, physically," the doctor said. "It was just a panic attack. Still, it might be better if he stayed away from the, ah, causative agents."

"But I'm working in here!" protested Keats, voice still a little faint.

"I'd really rather I didn't move my lab stations," said Irene from behind Sam and Mikaela. "What happened?"

"Keats fell asleep in the lab last night," said Ratchet. "And when he woke up Coldfront had shifted so that he had entrapped him. He startled the—sleeping Autobot when he tried to crawl over him to get out, causing him to—"

"—freak out," added Kristine helpfully.

"—fine, 'freak out,' going into attack mode before he had fully realized what was going on. He stopped once he recognized what had happened, of course, but the damage was done. And he was nervous to start with…"

"Agh. The world seems determined to keep me from my science," said Irene with a sigh. "Where's Coldfront now?"

"I sent him off," said Ratchet. "He wasn't helping Keats' state-of-mind."

"Well, _this_ isn't going to do. Keats, I want you to deal with your problem or get yourself assigned to a different lab. I'll understand if that happens."

"Also, as your senior and past mentor, work out whatever's going on with you and Coldfront," said Kristine. "I mean, he just almost killed you. You probably have _something_ to talk over. I'd be amazed if you didn't."

"Kristine, that isn't necessarily helping anything—"

"Yeah, whatever. _You're_ not the one who almost just got killed. Sometimes things need to be worked through."

"Just because you insist on picking at your scabs—"

"I prefer to think of it more as lancing an infected wound so you can squeeze out the pus," said Kristine.

"Urgh," said Mikaela.

"And people ask why I think organics are disgusting," said Landslide loudly from the corner. "They're always _oozing_ one thing or another. You know, I bet that damned Decepticon put him up to this."

"Why isn't anybody asking _me_ what I want to do?" said Keats quietly, silently proud that he had managed to keep his voice steady.

"Shut up, flunky," said Kristine cheerfully.

oOo

Coldfront hesitated before he pulled back into the building. He wasn't sure of—several things. He didn't know how long Ratchet's orders had been for, so there was a chance that he was disobeying if he returned right now. He didn't _think_ that he had been ordered to just simply not return at all, although it was possible—he _had_ just attacked a human, another sentient being, an act better suited to a Decepticon than even the most gray-area Autobot. On the other hand, he thought that any total dismissal would come from Optimus Prime.

And he didn't know what sort of punishment his sentence would entail if he wasn't being turned rogue. He didn't know what the policies of any of his new superiors were, let alone which acts they found most unspeakable or how they assigned their disciplinary actions. He knew that Bumblebee, especially, seemed protective of the humans, but not much more than that.

He didn't know how the humans would react to him, after what he had done. He assumed the human he had attacked—Keats Anders—was alive and in a safe condition, at the very least; he had seemed to be in a bad way, but he didn't know enough about organics to make a very good guess at that, but he hadn't been contacted, which he assumed he would have been if he had gone permanently off-line. Research had been inconclusive; he hadn't run any in-depth scans during the event, so he could only guess at most of the symptoms. At least he hadn't actually fired his cannon; that would have been an instant death sentence for an organic. He didn't _think_ he'd tossed him around too hard, either: there hadn't been any obvious wounds on him. The information he'd found on internal wounds had been… chilling, though.

He guessed he'd find out.

oOo

Keats looked up sharply as he heard the slight whirring of the door the Autobots used opening. He flinched a little as Coldfront drove back in, black paint glistening through patches of caked-on mud.

The sections of the room furthest away from the corner where all the scientists—including Keats—were working were already filled with Autobots. That left only the areas _closer_ to the scientists—and Keats—open. And he wasn't little like Bumblebee, let alone Gyro; fitting into the smaller areas would be difficult, verging on impossible. And it would be… _unprofessional_ to show, so obviously, his avoidance of the scientist. _All_ the scientists, really, or all the humans, but especially Keats.

Carefully, he maneuvered his way to an empty spot as far away from the scientists as he could manage, trying to stay away from their corner as he did so. It left him next to Bumblebee—fortunately, the two humans that seemed to gravitate towards him were gone, although he had no idea how long that would last—and the door, but it would have to do.

On the opposite side of the room, Irene straightened with a sigh. "Ooof. These tables could not be a more inconvenient height if they tried. Hey, Keats!"

"Yes?"

"You're done with set B for the moment, right? 'Cause you've been on duty too long. Go get some food and catch some sleep—we'll be experimenting with _darkness_ tonight."

"I think I'd like a break as well," said Kristine. "If it's alright, that is."

"Sure! Just get that finished up. I'll be fine here for a while."

Coldfront watched the last remaining scientist in the room putter for a while, slowly slipping into recharge. The day had been—draining. He was almost fully under when a slightly uncertain voice spoke up near him.

"Excuse me?" asked Irene.

Coldfront was knocked back to unconsciousness with a jolt that, he was afraid, had manifested physically as well as mentally. He resisted the shameful urge to run from the inevitable confrontation that was coming, and merely sat there, utterly still. After a few brief seconds, he found his voice.

"Yes…?" he said, sounding far less sure of himself than he would have liked to.

"I was wondering, if it wasn't too much trouble, if you'd be willing to help me lift boxes again." There was a brief, stunned silence before the woman, looking nervous, started talking again. "You—_are_ the one who helped me with the boxes, right? Coldfront? Because I was pretty sure, almost positive, that it was you but I'm new at telling giant robots apart—"

"No, no, it's me." Irene could hear the surprise in his voice, strong enough to override his normal near-tonelessness.

"Oh, _good_." She hadn't gotten that wrong, at least. "I mean, I'd love the help, assuming you're willing, but really, don't feel obligated, especially since you've already hugely helpful."

There was a long, weighty silence.

"So, I'll definitely understand if you don't want to help… I'll be fine without it, really, but I'd rather not risk blowing out my back in the middle of something like this. I'd rather not have to think with my mind all muddled with pain—"

"It's really no trouble," said Coldfront, voice a different form of enigmatic from his normal flat tones—it seemed to have too many indirect, confused and contradictory emotions, instead of none at all.

"Oh! Thank you," Irene smiled happily. "It's considerably more convenient, this way. I can't say I've ever _liked_ lugging around big, heavy boxes, too, and then there's always the chance that I'll drop something and end up breaking something, or invalidating the experiment, or breaking _myself_, or— Yep. You get the picture."

Irene headed back towards the science counter at a brisk walk, Coldfront trailing behind her, walking almost painfully slowly to avoid crowding her.

The two worked in near-silence for about half an hour, after Irene explained what she wanted. "Just put them in a row, about half a foot between each box, with the feeding traps facing the back—towards the far wall will be good," she had said.

After a while, Irene looked up. "Done?" said, turning away from the notes she had been frowning at, removing the pen she had been chewing on from her mouth so she could speak.

"Yes," he said, dipping one should down and slightly back in a move that was unfamiliar to the scientist—it was vaguely like a shrug but not _quite_; she figured it must have been body language she wasn't familiar with, and wondered how much of the conversation she was missing because of that sort of thing.

But now wasn't the time to think about deciphering giant alien robot body language. She had data about killer fig trees to analyze.

…And a traumatized lab assistant. Irene sighed, sliding her reading glasses off and sticking them absent-mindedly into the pocket on her shirt. If she had wanted to deal with this sort of thing she would have majored in psychology and been a damned marriage counselor, for God's sake.

Come to think of it, if she had majored in psychology, she probably would have learned to be diplomatic and subtle. Pity she hadn't.

"Coldfront?" she said. Behind her, she could literally hear the robot snapping to attention. Well, she could hear him moving, at least. She could only assume that he was actually _at attention_—or the Autobot version of it, at least. Or the Autobot version when you were in a cramped (for them) building and you weren't snapping to attention to another Autobot and, technically, the person you were focusing on wasn't in the military—any military—and therefore couldn't outrank you.

"Could you take this set over to Outbuilding Six? I'll meet you there in a few minutes to let you in. In the meantime, I'm going to run over to the other building and get some tea… Oh, and if you could keep the boxes at the temperature they are now, that would be great."

She looked back, and the mech nodded seriously in acceptance of her directions. "Only if it's not too much of a bother," she added, feeling a little guilty. She had the feeling that she was taking gross advantage of his near-creepy willingness to obey anyone he saw as in a position of power. There was just something wrong with that. Not that it wasn't helpful. And she was being kind of manipulative.

Oh well. It was all for the best. And also for the Good of the Nation and the Support of the American Way, complete with patriotic capitals.

A minute later she was ducking through the doorway to the cafeteria. Thankfully, Keats and Kristine were both there, Keats looking considerably calmer. "Hey! Keats!" she called out cheerfully over her shoulder as she walked towards the cabinet she'd hidden her tea in. Didn't want everyone getting into her private stash, after all. She'd end up running out, and it was hard to get her hands on this stuff. "I'm getting tea and going to catch a nap. Would you mind heading over to Outbuilding Six for me and opening it up? I think it'll be perfect for our set-up. No windows, no cracks, unused, video surveillance and a controllable temperature. Plus, it'll be handy later on—if we get lights out there we can leave one or two. I want to do some playing around with chemical signals—I've got the eerie feeling that they're all communicating, and those boxes are _supposed_ to be entirely contained, but I'm kind of suspicious."

"Sure," said Keats, standing.

"You know, it's a good thing he's used to your random babbling Irene," said Kristine, still seated. "Elsewise, he wouldn't have gotten much out of that little speech you just spouted off."

Irene looked affronted. "I do _not_ babble," she said affrontedly.

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do—"

Now, now, children," said Keats, grinning despite himself.

"Keats, my bright young scientist," said Kristine with a drawl, "I'm closer in age to your _mother_ than to you."

"'Now, children' indeed," said Irene. "I notice you are still remarkably far away from Outbuilding Six. Funny, that."

"Yes, ma'am, I'm going, ma'am, be back soon, ma'am," prompted Kristine in a stage-whisper sing-song as Keats turned to go. Both the women caught his hurriedly-stifled laugh.

"Well, it looks like the storm's blown over. Or the panic-attack, at least. I think things'll work themselves out, don't you?"

Irene had to cough to cover her wince. "Yeah… Right. Now, would you go over the data with me? I want to double-check before I send what I have out to the rest of the team."

oOo

"So if the plants respond like this to anything living we've tried sticking in there, how did you get all these samples?" the recently arrived Charles Cleve asked, voice sounding honestly curious.

Evan swallowed nervously. "Um…"

"That's where I come in," cut in Defense Secretary Keller from behind the mycologist's shoulder. "Mr. Cleve, I want you to fully understand that by agreeing to participate in this project that you are swearing yourself to the utmost secrecy, in everything you do, with no exceptions. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Secretary. I'm not given to revealing government secrets, though, sir."

"Well, some secrets are easier to keep than this. Cahler, get back on guard duty and stop giving Irene ammunition. You two follow me, please."

The two scientists fell into step behind Keller, the guards taking up the rear. They headed out of the building at a brisk walk, headed towards the largest building in the compound.

"So, do you do this kind of work regularly?" asked Charles after a few seconds of silence. Evan blushed and stammered.

"M—me? God, no. I'm still a grad student. This is my first time, and I'm… Kind of overwhelmed, I have to say. Of course, you still haven't…"

"Haven't what? Oh, I suppose it must be this big secret that we're headed towards. I have to say, this is _my_ first time doing something like this as well."

"The rest of the team are all old pros by now. Actually, some of my heroes are here… Have you ever heard of William Curtis? He's on the team. And Irene Gray—that's the Irene we just passed—and Keats Anders. Kristine Christopherson. Antonio Martinez. The lab assistants are Louise Brant and George Tanaka—they both seem very capable. They've been extremely helpful so far."

"And you're—Evan Fitzgerald, right? I'm terrible with names, I'm afraid."

"Yes, you've got it right. No need to worry. I'm good with names and faces, but I think it took Irene half a year to get my name straight. You'll be in good company."

"So, who's working on what?"

"You read the background, right? Well, we've been split into three main groups, each headed by a botanist. I'm looking at the threat of infection, and the possibility of the fungus making a cross-genus jump, and containment strategies if that fails. I've got some background in epidemic control, so they gave it to me.

"William Curtis is looking at pesticides and herbicides, and what's going to actually stop this—hopefully without destroying the whole rainforest along with it, but that might be a casualty we just need to accept. You'll be working with him, for now, and consulting with everyone else as we need it.

"And Irene's looking at behavior. The other scientists are all helping with those three main groups, except for Toni—he's looking at what the plant does to its prey. He's got the lab all covered in dead, half-decomposed animals because of it—I know that Irene, at least, has moved her base of operations for just that reason."

Charles frowned a little. "Wouldn't it be better to stay in one area? That seems a little… Irrational, something of an over-reaction."

"It's probably for the best. This is my first real assignment, and I haven't spent much time with the team, but I think that we might all work better if we're a little stretched out. It's not that we all don't get along, it's just that there's some, uh, _intense_ personalities.

"Oh. Well. Whatever works, then."

The small group paused outside a set of double doors set into the wall of a single large building, one with no windows whatsoever. The outside was a dull, patched brownish gray color, the pain peeling in several places. It was an unprepossessing building.

Keller hesitated. "Actually," he began, "it might help if you started with some of the files your laptop's been fitted with. I'd recommend starting under the section labeled 'extra-terrestrials' and go from there."

"Is this a practical joke?" snapped out the mycologist, looking suddenly disgruntled. "I didn't know the U.S. government would keep anything that stupid around. And you—someone in a position like yours shouldn't mess around with that sort of stuff, it's ridiculous!"

Keller's brows furrowed. "Sir," he said, "I am the Secretary of Defense for the United States of America. I'd thank you not to take that tone with me. You do not get into my position by being a deluded old man or a fool."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary," said Charles with a sigh.

"You're dismissed," continued Keller. "I'll meet you in your quarters in half an hour; that should give you enough time to finish reading the documents you've been provided with."

Silently, the scientist turned and left. "Should—should I go too?" said Evan, hesitantly.

"No, it's fine," sighed Keller. "There's just something about that man that grates on my last nerve."

Evan just stayed quiet. _He_ hadn't thought the mycologist had been too bad.

Keller really _was_ in a mood, though.

oOo

"Oh my God," said Charles Cleve, voice heavy with shock. "Robots. The United States enlists the help of giant fucking robots. From outer space. _Jesus Christ_."

oOo

Keats wasn't entirely surprised by Nimbus's presence at the outbuilding. He had a little warning, at least. He was rather proud of how calm his reaction was, actually, as he came around the corner. He was hardly sweating at all.

"Uh, hello," he said after a few long minutes stretched out. He was still a good ways away from the car, and he really didn't want to go any further towards him.

"Hello," said a clear voice, one coming from the direction of the vehicle. Keats repressed a shiver. It was eerie, hearing a voice like that coming from what could pass as an empty—well, not perfectly ordinary, not with him being the sort of car he was, doubtlessly one with a price tag to match—and inactive car. It sounded like someone was standing there, talking to him, a voice that could have belonged to anyone but for the slight distortion, the metallic taste to it.

The biologist was about fifteen seconds away from running away with his (metaphorical) tail between his legs when Coldfront spoke again.

"I am sorry," he said, falling back on the more formal patterns. They were more comfortable to him, more respectful. And regardless of what the human woman—Irene Gray—had said, in a proper system, scientists should be given respect.

Keats squeaked a little. "You've said," he managed, after swallowing a few times.

He looked down at his entwined hands, and consciously untwisted his fingers, dropping his arms stiffly to his side. The silence stretched on.

"It's—not all your fault, really," continued Keats. "You guys kind of freak me out. Um. I didn't mean that to sound the way it did. Sorry. Er. It's kind of an upset to my world view. And yeah, everyone's heard about what happened in that big city battle by now, but nobody would have guessed about the alien thing, except for the _real_ crazies, and the whole 'transforming' thing hadn't come up and, well, I'd never have figured I would have _met_ one of you, even if I _had_ known you were sentient. Which I hadn't."

"It is understandable," replied Coldfront. "It is logical that we would be—threatening."

"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean I can't be sorry for it… Because yeah, that was pretty terrifying, what happened earlier, but y'all have _always_ made me nervous. And the panic attack was kind of an extreme reaction, even considering the circumstances."

"A—panic attack? That is what happened to you? It is a… _vivid_ term." Quickly, he searched the term, then drew back a little. "It can be life-threatening?" Organics were so fragile. How had the species ever survived long enough to get this far?

"What? Well, kind of. It's sort of like shock, right? Shock can be deadly. But we've got medics around here for that sort of thing, and Kristine's stubborn enough to keep me from death by sheer force-of-will."

There was another pause. "I am sorry I am here," said Coldfront. "If I had known, I would have refused, after what I had done. I understand my presence is likely to be unsettling."

"'Unsettling' is one word for it," muttered Keats. Carefully, Coldfront moved a few inches further away from him. His face changed suddenly, and he looked up with a mixture of comprehension and extreme irritation on his face. "_Irene_," he said, voce laden with anger. "_She_ must have done this—"

"I would have refused her request, and found someone less threatening to do this if I had known," said Coldfront again. "But you seem to be very calm. Do I not understand the situation fully?"

"I am nothing if not resilient," said Keats, voice half-mocking. "And at some point blind panic runs its course, can't keep it up any longer and transfers into a kind of Zen state. Plus, I could see you a little from around the corner."

"Do you… Do you understand why Mrs. Gray would have done this? Arranged this meeting," asked Coldfront, after another weighty pause.

"Not really, no," said Keats. "I don't think anyone ever fully understands Irene, actually. And it would be Ms. Gray, if you're going to insist on formality with her. It's likely to make her rail at you angrily, though. Even Evan only tried it once, and he's got a serious case of hero-worship going on. Seriously, though, it's probably because of the project. She's very dedicated to her work, to completing an assignment and to doing her duty. She doesn't always agree with the government—you should have heard her when she was approached about biological weapons—but she's really big on saving people's lives."

"I don't really understand Ms. Gra—Irene," said Coldfront, sounding almost as if he was thinking out loud. "She should be more fearful."

Keats stiffened.

"I would have expected her to react more like you. Not even you like you are now, but your—panic attack. Are you really alright? No internal leaks—no, that's the wrong term. No internal bleeding?"

Keats relaxed. "Oh, you meant—of _course_. Irene's kind of a law unto herself. I've seen her frightened before, I think, but I can't recall what about. You certainly don't seem to ruffle her, though. Although I think you made her a little skittish at first. Well, not you in particular, but your species. And yeah, I'm okay. I'm going to bruise spectacularly, but nothing worse than that. Moving tomorrow morning won't be fun, but I'm a lab scientist. Running around isn't in the job description. Although Kristine did make me do laps once. You really jump around when you're talking. You know that, right?"

"'Jump around'?"

"Your subject. It seems to change quickly and irrationally. So, for example, you were talking about how Irene should have reacted, and then you were asking about my physical state. I can kind of see how you got there, but it's not a direct connection."

"I was, and am, —concerned." There's that odd, stilted quality to his speech again. It was more than just how he didn't use contractions regularly, Keats realized.

"Why don't you use contractions?" he said. Anything to keep the conversation going—it helped.

"An absence indicates formality, yes? It is more respectful."

"It's pretty weird, to be honest," said Keats, absent-mindedly. "But yeah, it's used in formal writing—that's basically only essays, though. I'll use it for write-ups sometimes, but I've never really heard someone speak like that before. Sometimes non-native English speakers won't use them, but that's because they have trouble with the concept."

"Scientists play an important role in society, and should be respected. Especially ones in a high position and such a vital role, as you are."

"Huh. Weird to think of being a scientist—with a few notable exceptions—as a high-profile, important job. Speaking of which, do you have the experiments with you? Since that's what I was sent to do here, and all. I don't think even Irene has the guts to send me on a made-up errand just so I run into you. She's got a certain level of deniability if it's under the pretense of 'work.'"

"Yes, I have them. They are inside the first door, but I cannot move them to the inner building without the key."

"Well, then, I'll go get that unlocked…"

--End chapter 6--

(1) "Leavin' On Your Mind," by Patsy Cline.


	7. Chapter 7

**Alien  
****Chapter Seven  
**By Dreaming of Everything

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Transformers or anything else connected to it in any way, shape or form. I merely borrow for my own use and fun, and hopefully others' as well. I also do not own the books Alice in Wonderland or Alice Through the Looking-Glass. The pseudo-science (along with matching pseudo-scientific babble) is entirely my own, on the other hand, as are the other characters.

**Author's Notes**: In case anyone was wondering: the groups-by-color the scientists have for the experiments? I figured out what each and every one of them was. And then I figured out some fungus-details, and then basically wrote an encyclopedia article about them. And then I designed more experiments. Twice. And that doesn't count writing all 32 pages of this thing. And that is part of the reason why this chapter took so long to write. (Yes, you read that right, 32 pages. Good _god_.)

Some rambling about the fic in general: Alien is the end result of me setting out to write a five-chapter gen action-adventure fic. It is currently a nine-chapter (mostly) gen science-flavored fic, with lots of research and ridiculous amounts of OC characters and freakishly long chapters, all getting longer, even when I split them in half. Again. And with lots of biology. And also an exercise in making exposition not mind-numbingly boring (hopefully), because there's not much else in terms of 'action' at the moment. WHAT WENT WRONG?

More specifically, this chapter is Nimbus-centric, as much as there's a focus beyond hammering out some more of the science-type details, because of **Kyarorin**, who's a fan. :D

Some of the more astute (and fast) readers among you may notice a part of this chapter had actually appeared earlier, and was removed—sorry 'bout that. I didn't need to rewrite it, and I _liked_ the original version, and so it was, basically, copy-and-pasted.

oOoOoOo

Irene bit thoughtfully at the tip of her pen as she glared thoughtfully at the trail end of the recording. She looked down at the clipboard she was holding, glare softening. She hummed thoughtfully.

"Well?" said Sam. Irene jumped slightly, then snapped her eyes up to meet his, expression obviously annoyed.

"Keats, take notes," continued the scientist, voice raised so that Keats and Kristine could hear her. Keats was up a ladder, poised to take notes; Kristine was at the base of the ladder, stabilizing it and providing commentary. "Groups Red, Yellow and Cobalt Blue—constantly active. Light appears to have no affect on their behavior. Groups Orange and Sky Blue—crepuscular leaning towards nocturnal. Group Green—partially constantly active, partially crepuscular leaning towards nocturnal. Groups Turquoise, Purple and Violet—no movement at all. You got that?"

"Just a second," said Keats vaguely, concentrating on the chart he was filling out. A minute later he said "Yeah. That's the last of it."

"All the groups with the constant activity showed up dead today," said Kristine, voice uncharacteristically sharp and intelligent. Sam jumped slightly at the change from her usual tone: slightly clueless but essentially good-natured. "Very, _very_ definitely dead. Frostbitten dead."

"Frostbitten?" said Solarity curiously from overhead.

"When organic tissue freezes solid, the water that inflates the cells freezes, and the ice crystals end up puncturing all _kinds_ of important things. It's kind of nasty, really. People end up losing fingers, noses, toes, ears and that sort of thing to it. With plants, it essentially means that they dissolve into black mushy sludge," said Kristine vaguely. Irene had moved from nibbling absentmindedly at her pen to chewing on it viciously as she stared at the data.

"That's revolting," said Landslide, voice thick with disgust, from his corner. "Organic design is so ridiculously inefficient…"

"Autobots don't do particularly well when their fluids freeze, either," said Ratchet mildly.

"Well, yes, but we're not going to _dissolve_, and it takes temperatures a damn lot colder than freezing to do it to us." There was obvious scorn in Landslide's voice.

Bumblebee shifted loudly and obviously from his position in the corner.

Optimus Prime gave a loud sigh—although, some small part of Kristine's mind realized, it was probably an adapted gesture, one that wasn't natural to the Autobots at all, but instead had been borrowed to replace some other sort of habit, so that the humans could understand it—that was, eerily, echoed almost exactly by Irene a few seconds later.

Irene stared up in consternation at the chart above her. "Clearly, there's something we're missing. Something _big_." Her voice was clearly irritated. "And it's pretty obvious that it's related to how many of the plants there are."

Keats shivered slightly. "Communal alien mind-fungus plants," he said, sounding torn between amusement and terror.

"Not just communal," said Kristine. "It's pretty clear that something about single living is actively fatal for these things. And considering how short the window on their death was, I doubt it's loneliness that's killing them off."

"…'_single living'_?" muttered Mikaela. Sam shook with smothered laughter.

"'Lonely'?" he mouthed back.

"Something about how they work requires more than one plant to do _something_ essential," continued Irene as if she hadn't heard a word. Her pen was looking rather the worse for wear. "Kristine, how quickly can you get someone to do an analysis of the mush that's left over from the dead plants? One of the ones that was just left alone, not one from group Turquoise. I want data on every little thing in there that's not present in the grouped infected plants, and everything that's different from the uninfected plant. Priority given to the former, of course."

"It's going to take awhile," said Kristine mildly. "We've hardly got a fully outfitted set-up here, despite the government's best efforts. Even if we did, this isn't the sort of thing that's necessarily going to go quickly."

"Damn…"

"I can do it faster than your methods can manage," offered Ratchet from overhead.

Irene gave a perfunctory glance upwards. "_Thank_ you," she said. "I don't suppose you could give me an in-depth report of how the plant behaves on a cellular level, as well?"

"I can't do both at the same time, but I know that other members of the team are outfitted for it…"

"Who?" cut in Optimus Prime.

"Solarity and Gyro have both been fitted with the basic equipment for dual-purpose field scientists or medics," said Ratchet. "And Coldfront has perfunctory equipment, a few degrees better than what ordinary Autobots possess. He should be marginally helpful, at least."

"_Why_?" said Keats, sounding baffled. "Gyro? Isn't he the little one who's always snickering?"

Bumblebee snorted with laughter. "Yes," he said, over it.

"Gyro was outfitted as a spy," said Coldfront from the other side of the room, voice raised a little, thoughtfully, so that the humans could still hear him. "And then given scientific programs and protocols as well, to back up his cover story if he was ever caught by Decepticons."

"How do you two know each other?" asked Mikaela.

"We were temporarily on the same team, before Gyro was reassigned to a different team better able to make use of someone with his capabilities," said Coldfront.

"We're off-topic," muttered Kristine.

"Would you be willing to assist?" said Irene, looking up briefly, her eyes slightly unfocused from concentrating too long at close range, making her vague stare even more unnerving than it usually was.

"Yes," said Optimus Prime, Ratchet and Coldfront, more-or-less simultaneously.

"Ah. Thanks," said the botanist, head clearly still up in the clouds—or down in the dirt. She continued talking, clearly to herself. "Beyond analyzing the chemical components of the plants, I want to know what's happening inside the plants on a cellular level. If this was associated with how the plants seem to be carnivorous, that would… No, that's a little too pat, a little too neat. I don't like it. We're still missing something. Combining photosynthetic and non-photosynthetic energy shouldn't cause too many problems… I mean, there's carnivorous plants. This isn't something to do with autotrophs being incompatible with heterotrophs. But we still don't know how the fungus figures into this. Gah. I need more files on how Cordyceps works. But not now. Energy, though—photosynthesis, even with the support of energy from the meat, shouldn't give them what they need for this type of movement… Something's missing…"

Irene looked up to find most of the room fixated on her and her mumblings. She flushed, just slightly.

"Pay attention to how the whole ATP deal seems to be working, okay?" she said finally.

"ATP?" said Sam. Mikaela shoved an elbow into his ribs.

"We covered that in biology _and_ chemistry!" she hissed.

"Adenosine triphosphate," said Kristine as she bustled past the two teens with copies of the new data to give to the other focus groups.

"That was spectacularly unhelpful," said Sam.

oOo

"You don't trust Nimbus, do you?" said Sam, quietly, to Bee. The (maybe?) reformed Decepticon was gone, still on a patrol—he seemed to prefer the Amazon rainforest to the confined quarters and suspicious reactions of the temporary Autobot base.

Bumblebee's engine rumbled wordlessly, suddenly racing underneath Sam and Mikaela from where they sat perched on his knee.

"I'll take that as a yes, then, you don't trust him at all," said Sam.

Mikaela shrugged her shoulders. "I can understand how it's hard to trust him," she said. "I mean, I'm pretty nervous around him myself. But at the same time I can understand what it's like to have a history you're not proud of. And how hard it can be to move beyond it."

Sam squeezed her hand wordlessly. "I'm still sorry," he said.

"Goof. You've already apologized. …A lot."

"Still…"

"I _understand,_ Sam. It was a lot to throw at you, considering what was going on, and yeah, you reacted badly when you were told that your crush's dad was a car thief and she had helped him with it, and had a juvie record because of it. Especially when you'd just been abducted by the government because your first car turned out to be an alien."

Bumblebee beeped good-naturedly at the two humans.

"'Well, when you put it like that' and all that jazz, I guess," said Sam. "C'mere, you." He leaned over to kiss her, one hand tangling in her hair.

"I don't like it either," growled Ironhide to one side of the yellow Autobot and the two kissing humans, who both jumped visibly, jerking out of their kiss.

"Ironhide," gasped out Sam, "What did I _tell_ you about doing that?"

"Why the slag would I know?" said the weapons expert grumpily. "It's not like I was listening to you. It's not like I _needed_ to listen to you."

Mikaela tried and failed to stifle her giggles. The hum of Bee's engine underneath the two had taken on a distinctly amused note as well.

"Still," continued Ironhide, head tilted in a way that seemed distinctly irritated even to the two humans, "I've been fighting Decepticons since the war _began_. I've been alive longer than anyone in this room, and I haven't lived this long because of sheer dumb luck."

"Ironhide picks up on the weirdest earth phrases," Mikaela muttered. "Can't manage most of them for the life of him, but _others_ he has no problem with. I swear it's on purpose…"

The Autobot ignored the interruption and continued talking. "And something just sits _wrong_ with me with trusting a total stranger—a _Decepticon_ stranger—based on nothing more than his word—"

"It was considerably more than just 'his word,'" said Ratchet, sounding mildly insulted. "It's not like I'm some nothing rookie who wouldn't know an active subroutine if it came up and bit him."

"Why does everyone feel the need to have their say while _I'm_ talking?" growled Ironhide. "As I was _saying_, we have no reason to trust this—" he broke off briefly into Cybertronian and Bumblebee snickered. Sam and Mikaela winced as a few of the higher notes vibrated their way into their teeth. "—around everyone here. The only reason I haven't shot him is because Bumblebee hasn't, and he's the one with the most to lose in this situation."

"So… You're saying that you trust his judgment when it comes to this…?" said Sam doubtfully.

"No, I'm saying that if anyone gets to dismember the punk, it's him."

"Oh." Yes, that did seem considerably more in-character for the Autobot, on reflection.

"It's probably for the best that Optimus is gone," said Mikaela reflectively.

Bumblebee made a noise that closely resembled an irritated growl. "It isn't _safe_ to have him here. Especially considering the situation. Of course, I'm not sure I'd trust Landslide behind my back in a fight any more than an ex-Decepticon…"

There was a loud grunt from Landslide's corner in response. Mikaela and Sam collapsed against each other, overcome with giggles.

Landslide continued speaking after a minute, when there were no other responses. "Little—" he switched briefly to Cybertronian "—is going to end up killing someone, maiming someone or fucking something up. One of the humans, if we're lucky."

Bumblebee probably would have gone for the beige vehicle's throat if it hadn't been for the presence of the two humans sitting on him. As things were, he settled for muttering uncomplimentary things under his breath in Cybertronian and flashing his newly-prepped gun at the Autobot pointedly.

"And _Landslide,_" continued Ironhide, as if the Autobot he was speaking about hadn't just spoken and wasn't, in fact, in the room at all. "The damned Decepticon is bad enough, but I'd rather be stuck with him than with Landslide. Doesn't know when to shut up, doesn't know when to give up, doesn't know enough to re-evaluate his damned opinions—if we were back closer towards the beginning of the war, I'd say he should stay towards the back when everyone's heading into battle, because with a personality like that there's going to be an _accident_ where someone ends up, say, shooting him in the back—'because of nerves or the confusion of the situation, of course, looked like a Decepticon coming down on me, sir, I swear.' Of course, that's not going to happen with so few of us here…" Ironhide sounded actively disappointed.

Sam winced, then scrambled to his feet, bracing himself against his best friend, craning to look over towards the other side of the room. Landslide appeared to have gone to sleep.

"Whoah," he said, on general principle. Even when you spent a lot of time around them, giant robots got kind of unnerving when they were threatening each other with friendly-fire deaths on the battlefield. And/or talking about how much they hated humans.

After a few minutes, Solarity started speaking. "I don't know," he said. "Ratchet said he wasn't lying, and we don't know his reasons for switching sides. Whatever it was, it must have been something. But he seems decent enough, and he's trying at least, and he's friendlier than Landslide is to humans and Autobots both…" He trailed off, looking off into space, the other Autobots copying him—even the 'asleep' Landslide.

"What's going on?" Sam asked Bee quietly after a minute.

"Nothing," said the yellow mech. "Just a transmission. Optimus is coming back from patrol, and wanted to make sure things were going according to regulation. Just a regular check-in."

"What do _you_ think, Coldfront?" asked Solarity as the Autobot door to the building opened up, allowing the transformed Prime to drive in.

"It is not my position to say," said the robot stiffly.

"What?" said Ratchet, sounding patently confused.

"Because a commanding officer has already made a decision, it would be insubordinate of me to question the matter, and disrespectful to give my opinion the same importance as theirs." Coldfront's words were nearly covered up to Sam and Mikaela's ears by the clicking and whirring of Optimus' transformation

There was dead silence.

"…What sort of commanding officer did you _have?_" said Solarity disbelievingly.

Optimus sighed heavily.

_Coldfront_, he sent silently to the Autobot. _I don't think you understand the situation here. As far as we know, we could be the only Autobots left alive. Until more Decepticons arrive, there is no active fighting going on. The hierarchy is going to be considerably looser than it usually is, and from what I can tell, what you're used to is a lot stricter than is normal. You're going to have to adjust._

_My apologies, sir,_ Coldfront sent back.

_That's… I think you're still missing the point. It is not necessary to refer to me as 'sir' when we are not acting as an army unit. 'Optimus' is fine. I'm not going to punish you for having opinions or voicing them. Even for acting on them without permission, much of the time, especially not when it's something like helping out the science branch. You're not going to be reprimanded for anything short of getting arrested or causing mass amounts of property damage with no good excuse. As long as nobody ends up dead, the punishment will probably not be all that severe._

_Yes…_ Coldfront's message trailed off, the Autobot clearly having trouble with his new orders. _Optimus Prime_. he finished.

_Close enough,_ said the Autobot leader finally.

When Optimus turned his attention back to the verbal conversation it had shifted onto how Sam was going to deal with his mother when he got back home.

"Seriously. She's going to freak out—she reads National Geographic, and it only makes her _more_ paranoid about rainforests than she would be normally. I swear she knows more about the parasites you can pick up in these sorts of places than anyone short of a specialist."

"I dated a biologist who was specializing in parasites, once," said Irene—she'd paused in the doorway as she'd been walking in to catch the tail end of the conversation without interrupting. "It didn't last."

"Urgh," said Mikaela feelingly. Sam was inclined to agree.

"Yeah, that should have been my reaction when I was asked out."

"So, there's a lot of species that parasitize humans?" said Solarity curiously. "What sort of effects do they have? Historically, before your medicine and hygiene improved, how did you survive that sort of thing? What counts as a negative value when it comes romantic involvement in social terms? And what's the deal with your mother, Sam?"

"Uh…" said Sam.

Irene laughed.

"More things than I can name parasitize people, including some particularly nasty ones," said Irene. "Various affects, up to and including death. On the other hand, it can be something like leeches, which are just kind of gross—although they are used for medicinal purposes every so often, so I suppose that that could be your point of view. It depends on what sort of parasite it is, when it comes to effect. I mean, bot fly larvae in your head aren't going to have the same effect as a tapeworm in your gut. Historically speaking—I'd read up on malaria, if you're interested at all. It's pretty fascinating stuff.

"Plusses and minuses in dating… Whooo, that's a big one. To partially answer your question, the problem with dating someone who knows a lot about parasites and, in fact, works and studies them for a living, is that they are liable to talk about it. And listening to that sort of thing goes beyond creepy for most people."

Mikaela nodded fervently.

"And I've never met Sam's mother so you'll have to ask him about her, but from what I heard it sounds as if she's fairly over-protective."

Sam sighed. "Mom has a—forceful personality. That's a good way to put it. Did I tell you she went after a secret government agent with a baseball bat?"

Irene bit her lip, holding back a laugh. "Amusing as I'm sure that anecdote is, I've got to get back to work," she said. "Lots of data left to analyze, you know." She paused for a minute, starting to frown slightly, deep in thought.

And didn't move, long enough that it was obvious.

"Irene?" said Evan's voice hesitantly from behind her.

"We never did figure out what was alerting them to prey," she said thoughtfully.

"Uh, no, we didn't," said Evan. He shot a nervous glance at the ring of Autobots looking down at the tangle of humans. He shot an even more nervous glance at Irene as she slowly started smiling.

"Hey, Evan, did you ever have any of those little wind-up toys when you were younger?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"That was supposed to be an answer, not a question!" barked out Irene, unexpectedly enough to make all the other humans jump. In the distance, Mikaela thought that she could hear Gyro giggling again.

"Sorry, ma'am!" yelped Evan.

"Hah. I figured you still had that reaction. I keep on telling Marie that scaring the spit out of her students doesn't work for _every_one, but she doesn't listen."

"No, —Irene, it's just that it's an honor to work with you and with everyone else—it was your essay on ferns that made me decide on botany, really, instead of marine biology—and everyone else… The people here are the best at this sort of thing, some of the most genius minds there are, and I'm still a grad student, really—"

"Evan," said Irene kindly, "Ninety percent of all actual science done is by grad students, they just don't usually get credit for it. Now, about the wind-up mice. How easy do you think it would be to alter them slightly?"

"Actually, I could probably help with that as well…" said Ratchet above them.

Irene whooped loudly. Bumblebee covered up a laugh.

"…And I have the data you requested here. I wasn't able to locate some of the chemicals found in the samples in your databases—and they weren't all from the infected ones—so I listed comparable ones. Most of it is very basic, but there are a few that—aren't. Of course, this depends on accurate information being provided by your government. Our own files on biomolecules fall woefully short."

"_Thank_ you," said Irene fervently. "I'd offer you my firstborn child—that's the tradition, if I remember correctly—but I doubt you'd have any need of it. And it's likely to be a while in coming. Kids scare the _shit_ out of me. Scare me almost as much as childbirth, actually."

Half the Autobots seemed to be running online searches to try to figure out the cultural significance of giving away your children.

"Um, I think that Irene just doesn't make that much sense most of the time," said Mikaela after a minute.

"Oooh, she's quick," said Irene approvingly. "Catches on fast. You ever consider a career in the sciences?" Evan looked torn between amusement and disapproval.

"I was thinking engineering," said Mikaela automatically.

Irene sighed. "Never did understand mechanically-minded people, myself. The natural world is just so incredibly wonderfully and utterly _fascinating_." She paused and looked around the room. "No offense intended, of course," she added.

"Here's the data," said Ratchet finally, reaching down to hand her a small object that somehow seemed to ooze the sense that it was incredibly complex, advanced technology.

"Thanks," said the botanist, looking at the thing in her hands with a single eyebrow raised expressively. "But do you know if it's compatible with Windows XP?"

oOo

"It's for the best, really, that it looks like these things die after you cut them off at the base," said Irene, a scalpel held delicately poised over the now-still-and-wilted mass of greenery in front of her. "This would be much harder, otherwise."

"Aren't you supposed to be analyzing data?" said Kristine, looking up from where she was bent over a sheaf of papers a table over from the botanist.

"Yes, but I need a break. And what better way to do it than by shredding evil alien plant life?"

"Why do you keep on using the term 'alien'? For all we know, this is just the next step in Cordyceps evolution—it's just been brewing for a while, deep in the Amazon rainforest, its presence utterly unknown…"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's aggressively carnivorous. _You_ read the reports about what happened in that village. No, this is nothing like anything we've seen before, except for a tenuous connection to Cordyceps. Which, true, alters the behavior of its prey, but not like _this_. Some more poking through those papers will reveal something, if we're lucky, but no, this doesn't match up. So it _must_ be aliens."

"…Your logic processes are frightening."

"Psh. Stuff and nonsense! What's _really_ frightening are my unlogic processes."

"You _want_ me to ask, don't you? Because then you'd get to answer me. Well, I refuse to play your petty games…"

"Damn, you've caught on to me."

"Still, why would you think it's _alien_ in nature?"

"Oh, I don't know. My mind's just been a little more open to the apparently unfeasible lately."

"I'd blame the Alice books, if I were you. You know—ten impossible things before breakfast and all that. It's coming across in your speech."

"While I freely admit to having communed with my childhood by rereading Through the Looking Glass and Alice in Wonderland pretty recently, I think it has more to do with the _thirty foot tall giant robots_ than anything else."

"Checkmate, I suppose."

"You suppose right—hey, Evan!"

"Yes, M—Irene?"

"Don't call me Ms. Gray, and after you finish up that, I won't need any more of your help. Thank you very much, though—I really appreciate having you look over that for me. I always like a second eye to read through, and other than Professor Curtis you're the only one with the right qualifications."

Evan was blushing red enough that, Kristine thought privately, it looked like he was going to combust.

"Also, I think that the Secretary of Defense was saying something about how it would be good to have one of the botanists work with the mycologist—his name's Cleve, right? Charles Cleve—poor man—so that there was a cluster group that was qualified on both sides of the equation. I thought you'd be a good choice, if you're interested, since your work's pretty much stalled right now."

"No, no, I'd be happy too," muttered Evan, looking highly embarrassed.

"…Is everything okay?" said Irene after a minute.

"I'm, uh, just kind of overwhelmed that the Secretary of Defense knows who I am," said the younger botanist.

"You get used to that," said Sam.

"Kind of," said Mikaela.

oOo

"Hey," said Mikaela agreeably to Keats, the only other person in the room, as she walked in with her breakfast, a cheap packaged muffin. The food was questionable on the temporary base.

"Hello," he replied. "You're up early."

"Not as early as you," she pointed out. "But I just couldn't sleep. The beds here aren't very comfortable."

"Sam's still asleep, then?"

"I guess so. He's having trouble sleeping too, but that just means that he gets up at ten instead of noon."

Keats laughed. "I remember when I was that age! I either couldn't sleep at all, or even _think_ about it, I was so wide-awake, or I could do nothing but. And it seemed to have very little to do with what time it was, except when it was in inverse relation to what I was _supposed_ to be doing."

Mikaela laughed as well. It was a pretty accurate summation. "So, you've got more experiments, right? It's the only reason I can imagine getting up this early."

Keats grinned sheepishly. "Actually, no. I got up so early so I could talk a walk before I have to do all the science. I haven't had a break other than eating or sleeping for days, and I really needed it. Plus, I don't think I could live with myself if I spent time in the _Amazon Rainforest_ and never even set foot in the forest proper." The emphasis he put on 'Amazon Rainforest' somehow managed to convey the sense that it was, approximately, equivalent to setting foot in Heaven for business and not taking the time to have a look around.

"Is it safe?"

"It's well within the patrol ranges, and none of the Autobots have reported any signs of infected plants," said Keats. "And neither have the regular human patrols. And Keller made me bring along a radio with dials set to both regular army frequencies and the ones the robots use. It probably doesn't get any safer than this."

"…Can I come?"

"Okay, sure. Why not? Although I have to warn you, you'll have to put up with me..."

oOo

Mikaela looked at the biologist with both amusement and bemusement. He was currently kneeling on the ground, poking through the leaf litter with a twig and mumbling happily to himself. He'd stopped trying to actually talk to Mikaela half an hour back, when it had become clear that she didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about and didn't really care all that much. It was nice to just get out and enjoy the change of pace and scenery, for her.

And it really was incredibly gorgeous. The canopy above them was chaotic with noises filtering down to them in the half-dark of the forest floor, and the chaotic welter of life around them was nearly overwhelming.

Of course, not everything was so nice. The six-inch centipede—poisonous, Keats had informed her—that he'd unearthed had nearly been enough to send her straight back to the camp for a long, scalding-hot shower. Really, though, she was glad she'd decided to stay. She'd _needed_ this.

…though apparently not as badly as Keats. He was grinning, widely, at everything and nothing, apparently just for the sheer joy of life, and biology.

"Isn't this _great?_" he said happily, looking over at Mikaela.

"Yeah," she said, smiling back. It really, really was. She'd wanted to travel for the excitement, before—well, before. Before she'd met Sam, Bee, the rest of the Autobots, Maggie and Glen, the Secretary of Defense, the agents of Sector 7, the Decepticons… Before she'd saved the world, before she'd risked her life, before she said 'okay' and got in the car. Before aliens had tried to kill her. _Before_. And now here she was, in the Amazon Rainforest, about as exotic a location as she could imagine, her stay being paid for by the government because of her boyfriend's car. And she was getting to watch the world being saved—again—although from something considerably less dramatic than giant transforming robots with plans to turn every mechanical item on earth into evil human-killing machines. Alive ones.

Yes, it was funny how things changed.

"What are you looking at?" she said, moving forward.

"Some kind of mushroom," said Keats after a minute or so. "Here, come look."

Mikaela did, although she decided to hold off on actually kneeling on the damp, no doubt insect-ridden leaf mould of the forest floor. "Cool," she said as she peered at the thing, and meant it. Maybe the biologists and botanists were catching, but she'd never thought that she'd find fungus interesting. The delicate umbrella-shapes this one had formed in bright maroon red were actively pretty, though.

The sudden sound of an engine made her look up then straighten out of the crouch she'd settled into to look at the mushrooms, scanning the dense foliage surrounding them for the source of the engine.

Keats slowly stood up behind her. "What?" he asked.

"I can hear an engine," she said shortly.

"Oh. I can't, but I'm partially deaf."

"Really?" said Mikaela, half-turning to look at him with surprise. "I didn't know."

"Well, you wouldn't—it's hardly something that would've come up."

"That's a good point. –I can't hear the engine anymore."

Keats shrugged his shoulders, eyes wandering slowly back towards the forest floor.

Mikaela turned her eyes back to where she thought the sound had been coming from—not that it was easy to tell, with all the trees and rotting organic matter and wet to block the sound—just in time to catch a sports car, incongruously clean (it was silver-toned) and its smooth, flowing, aerodynamic lines in sharp contrast to the organic tangle surrounding them. A blank-faced man with a moustache seemed to be driving it. Mikaela screamed, high and short and sharp, and flung herself instinctively backwards, sending her crashing into Keats, who gave a short, hoarse cry of pain as his bruised back was suddenly hit with a flailing teenaged girl.

The hologram in the driver's seat disappeared, staticking out of existence. "Are… Are you okay?" said Nimbus' voice uneasily.

Mikaela let out a gasp of involuntary relief, the tension suddenly draining out of her previously stiff form.

"_Ow_," said Keats from behind her, fervently.

"Nimbus," said Mikaela, voice relieved if not relaxed, not even neutral.

"Oh. Hello," said Keats, pulling himself upright. "Good lord, Mikaela, do you have lead bones or something? You weigh a _ton_. (1)"

Mikaela looked torn between indignation and apprehension. "You're on patrol?" she said, hesitantly, after a minute, slight worry winning out.

"Yes," he said simply. There was a long pause—Keats seemed to have picked up on Mikaela's edgy mood.

"It's hazardous here alone," said Nimbus abruptly.

Mikaela sighed, cutting him off before he could finish. "Before you start dragging out examples and graphic stories, I'll have you know it's perfectly safe," said Mikaela tiredly. "I swear, you're all alike when it comes to human capabilities—Bee seems to think that we're going to die a violent, bloody death every time we get into a car that's not him, certainly. And Ratchet—don't get me started. Seriously, a walk in the woods isn't going to kill anyone."

"Although if there was a forest that could do it, this would probably be right up there," said Keats. "And thank you for your concern—Nimbus, right?"

"Yeah," said Mikaela.

"Yes," confirmed the Transformer. "And Mikaela, I'm not sure you're aware of the potential dangers out here. First and foremost, there's the infected figs."

"I've already gotten the safety lecture," said Keats brightly. "And I've got a radio tuned to Autobot and army frequencies. Plus a med kit, just in case. And we shouldn't be too much longer—we probably need to turn back in just a little while anyways—I'm probably late for work already. Oh well."

"I could accompany you back to base," said Nimbus hopefully, making the statement a question.

"I'd really rather spend a little bit longer out here," said Keats wistfully. "This place is so _incredible_. It's unbelievable! The sheer variety of life, the ingenuity—it's beyond words. I could spend eternity here and never get bored, seriously."

Mikaela vigorously nodded her agreement. She really didn't want to accept a ride from the ex-Decepticon.

"Alright," said Nimbus after another moment. "Be careful."

Mikaela snorted loudly.

oOo

"I can't believe I sprained my ankle," Mikaela said, head buried in her hands. She was sitting on a convenient rock while Keats did his best to get it bandaged up.

"At least it's not broken?" said Keats after a minute—he had paused to take the tail end of a bandage out of his mouth, where he'd been holding it out of the way. "Because that would be _really_ bad. Or you could have broken something else—your arm, for example, or your leg. Or you could have severe internal bleeding. Or be spouting blood from some important artery or another—and I, for one, would really rather go my whole life without dealing with a life-threatening wound."

"I'd really rather go my whole life without getting one," said Mikaela with a sigh, "but the way things are going it doesn't look like I'll be able to manage it. Maybe I should aim for 18th birthday."

"Excuse me," said a voice, too soft for her to be able to tell whose it was, from what sounded like a little ways away. Mikaela gasped and jumped, almost kicking Keats in the face.

"Oh my God," she gasped out.

"I'm sorry," the voice said, a little louder and clearer this time. The speaker sounded like he honestly meant the apology.

"Nimbus?" asked Keats, head cocked to one side.

"Yes," he affirmed, pulling carefully out of the patch of brush he'd been in until they could see him.

"…were you _following _us?" asked Mikaela suspiciously.

"Not much," he said, sounding embarrassed. "But it's a hazardous situation, and I didn't want you to be too far away from help if something went wrong…"

Mikaela winced, brought one expressive hand up to her face.

"That's kind of creepy," said Keats quietly.

"I'm sorry," said Nimbus again. "I'll go." He backed up a little ways, then hesitated again.

"Can I at least assist you back to the base, Mikaela?" he asked. Mikaela had the distinct sense that he was looking over his shoulder at her, despite the fact that he currently had no shoulder to look over.

She sighed. It wouldn't do her ankle any favors to walk back. "I probably should," she said reluctantly, but she made no move to stand and didn't give a more definitive answer.

The silver car moved closer to her and the scientist, waiting a short second to check their reaction before popping open the passenger-side door—something like an invitation to get in, or a request, Mikaela had learned from a long time spent with Bee.

"Would you like to come too?" she said to Keats, turning to face him even as she kept the corner of one eye on the Autobot behind her. She tried to say 'Please, _please_ don't leave me alone with the ex-Decepticon' with her eyes as she did so.

"Um," said Keats, swallowing a little. "Okay?"

After a few seconds the car pulled forward a little more. There was another pause.

"I can't get up without some help," said Mikaela finally.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" said Keats instantly. "Sorry. Okay, here we go."

Slowly, he helped her over to the now-apparently-inert vehicle. Carefully, she eased herself into the front seat. As she sat down the opened door swung shut, the door to the back seat opening to let in Keats. Mikaela fought back a shiver, not that it would really help—the Autobots could be unnervingly aware of the state of their passengers, something that freaked her out when she was riding in (with?) any of them—well, who wasn't Bee, basically.

The first few minutes of the trip were deathly silent, with only the (very) faint hum of the engine and the brush of leaves and scrape of branches against the windows and sides of the car.

"Thank you," said Keats at last, probably mostly because he just couldn't take the silence anymore.

"It's nothing," said Nimbus simply. Keats jumped at the way that the voice filled the car, something Mikaela could sympathize with—it was always unnerving at first, and even she wasn't entirely used to it; Bumblebee's voice was still pretty come-and-go, and the radio clips he used instead were considerably less disconcerting.

"…Were you finished with your patrol?" said Mikaela at last.

"Yes," said Nimbus, his voice—medium-low for a human male, and with a remarkably gentle quality, something that was, surprisingly, almost soft—still quiet.

"Oh," she said. Yes, that made sense.

Keats was looking intently out the windows as they slowly made their way through the jungle, bouncing as the seat was jostled by the rough terrain they were on.

"See anything interesting?" asked Mikaela, leaning over to look out as well.

"_Everything,_" he said, wistful. "The next chance I have to use some vacation time, I'm coming back, definitely. This is _incredible_."

It was very pretty, Mikaela thought, but she still failed to see where the huge appeal in looking over samples of some 400 species of nearly-identical brown beetle was.

Mikaela hissed sharply as her ankle was jolted as Nimbus jerked suddenly, hitting another pothole. Besides her, Keats yelped as he smacked his head into the side of the car.

"Are you okay?" said Nimbus instantly, voice concerned and a little bit nervous.

"Yes," said Mikaela, echoed a second later by Keats. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

There was what seemed like another long silence but, Mikaela thought, it was probably pretty short. It just _felt_ like an eternity. She was still feeling distinctly nervous.

She was relieved when they finally came to a large wall, the one surrounding the camp. they turned right and followed it a short distance, until they came to a guarded gate, large enough to let in cars. It wasn't the main entrance she'd been through coming into the camp or leaving that morning, with Keats.

Nimbus pulled to a stop just before the gate, and a slightly nervous-looking soldier walked a little closer to inspect the car, looking a bit oddly at Keats and, especially, Mikaela. He saluted after he was done, then walked back to small guard station. A second later the gate started to rise. Nimbus waited patiently until it was far enough up that he wouldn't catch on the bottom and then a little bit longer before driving through. He turned left after he went through, then right and then right again, heading through utterly deserted little alleys formed by the maze of buildings that made up the complex, most of them abandoned and unused.

They finally came to a larger building, towering far above the rest of them, forming a dead end around an incongruous curve that both of the humans had assumed would reveal a short stretch of road like all the others had. As they approached a section of wall slid up, revealing the rest of the Autobots and the scientists inside it. Nimbus pulled smoothly inside, stopping a little ways away from the door as it slid shut behind them. The doors opened and Mikaela and Keats stepped out. They were greeted by stares and the full and total attention of the entire room, humans and mechs alike.

There was a loud clicking and Bumblebee stepped forward, cannons flipping out and pointed directly at the car. Nimbus didn't transform. Carefully, Keats and Mikaela inched to the side.

There was a brief burst of Cybertronian, utterly incomprehensible to the two humans, overlaid with a staticky quality Mikaela had learned to associate with Bee's voice, especially when he was speaking in the more challenging tones of his native tongue.

Across the room, Landslide flipped out his own weapons, followed shortly by Ironhide.

"Stand down," said Optimus Prime, his voice absolute, leaving no room for doubt or compromise. "_Now_."

There was a slow, reluctant flurry of clicking and whirring, Bee moving last to put his guns away.

"Mikaela?" he said, voice a question.

"I sprained my ankle," she said, by way of explanation. "I went with Keats on his walk, there was a stupid accident, Nimbus offered us a ride back and here I am."

Bumblebee relaxed slightly.

"That sounds suspicious to me," said Landslide loudly. "I think we should shoot him."

"I'll do it," offered Ironhide immediately.

"I really don't see what the problem is," said Solarity.

Gyro said something in a brief crackle of Cybertronian, just barely managing to finish with a straight face before collapsing with laughter again.

"Science!" yelled Irene from the corner. "As in, science is what I am trying to do. Y'all can threaten to shoot each other and whatnot some other time. And Keats is late, so it's not like we've got people to spare."

"I'm coming!" Keats shouted back at her. "Sorry…"

"Oh. Hey, Keats," she said, looking up again and blinking slightly in his direction.

"Off in your own world again, huh, Irene?" said Kristine.

"My apologies, Nimbus," said Optimus, voice still stern but gentler than it had been, slightly calmer. "Bumblebee, threatening your fellow Autobots is a serious offense." Ratchet snickered slightly. "—Ironhide aside, it's not something I can overlook," Optimus continued. "Once we've finished with this situation, there will be a punishment detail. Landslide, Ironhide, you don't even have the excuse of being concerned about the wellbeing of a friend. The same goes for you."

"Yes, sir," said Bumblebee, not happy but accepting. He was echoed by Ironhide.

There was a muted grumble from Landslide.

"What was that?" barked out Ironhide, bristling at the obvious disrespect in the mech's tone.

"Stand down, Ironhide," said Optimus, sounding just slightly amused.

"Yes, sir," said the weapons specialist, still bristling.

There was a brief pause.

"Landslide. Double shift patrol duty, starting immediately," said Optimus finally.

"Yes, _sir_," said Landslide, saturating the words with attitude.

"One of these days someone's going to take you apart," Ratchet called after his retreating back, "—and I'm not going to be the one to put you back together again."

"Ratchet," said Optimus.

"Not a threat, Optimus," he replied. "Just a statement of fact."

Gyro giggled.

"You know, I really can't argue with that," the leader of the Autobots said reflectively.

oOo

"Okay," Irene said brightly, looking up from her files.

"What's that on your face?" asked Kristine.

Irene's expression darkened again. "Ink. My pen broke while I was chewing on it." She paused to let Kristine finish laughing. It took a while. "_Finally_," she continued. "There's two chemicals in particular that I want to look at, and a third, fourth and fifth less so. And I'm ready to try the wind-up toys."

"Okay," said Kristine. "Which chemicals?"

"Here's the papers," Irene responded, handing them over. "The ones circled in red, with the ones with two lines the main focus. Kristine looked them over, nodding as she finished.

"Yeah, those're weird," she said. "They really stand out. A standard injection procedure?"

"Yep. I need to get them isolated, though, into samples…"

"Done," said Ratchet, handing down a few small vials. One of them dropped and bounced on the hard concrete of the floor.

"Not glass, then," said Irene. "Some sort of chemically inert plastic?"

"Yes," Ratchet confirmed. "They're labeled, as well."

"Thank you. I owe you so badly right now it's not even funny. Want to watch figs go after wind-up toys now?"

"Sure," he said, sounding amused.

oOo

"So, how'd getting figs to go for wind-up toys instead of mice go?" asked Keats, amused.

"Wonderfully! Also, it was _hilarious_. I've got extras—want to watch some more when we have the time?"

"Well, I was thinking more in the terms of results…"

"It's body heat and carbon dioxide," she said. "And it's an either-and situation. It just takes one of the two for a reaction. That's why they go after the Autobots—presumably they didn't plan for inorganic heat sources. I doubt they can get any nutrients from them, certainly."

"Not movement?" said Keats, curious.

"Nope, not movement. We're lucky—it should be pretty easy to modify something so that it keeps the reactionary by-products contained. That'd be helpful."

"And what about those chemicals Kristine was telling me about?"

"I've got the set-ups finished. To start with, I'm just looking at how they interact with plants on their own, and at a few different concentrations, for the two main ones I'm interested in. Depending on the results of that, we can look at them in combination later. I'm going to bed now, though—a full night's worth of rest sounds like it would be beyond heaven, at the moment. I'll look at what happens in the morning, but I don't expect anything to happen for a few days, since it took a while for the past samples to die."

"Okay, then. Can I tell Evan and the new guy that they're free to use this lab while we're gone? I'm not sure what either of them thinks of the Transformers, but the main lab's pretty much unusable at the moment, with all the decomposing animals Toni's got in there. Here's his latest report, while we're at it."

"Thanks, and feel free. I've hardly been here long enough to feel territorial. Oof. I'm going to read this in the morning, I think."

"Yeah, you've barely been sleeping at all, haven't you?"

"Yes, but I'm not the one who fell asleep in the lab," she pointed out. Keats blushed slightly. "I'll see you later, then," she said, turning to go. After a minute, Keats followed her. He wasn't done working for the evening, but some dinner and a short break would do him some good.

oOo

Apparently, it had rained all night long. It was the morning now, and it was still drizzling slightly. It had made the ground pretty muddy. Extremely muddy, even. Bumblebee knew—he was currently stuck in it.

He tried to back out of it again, but it was useless. He loved Earth, really, liked the variation and had made two of his closest friends here, but sometimes he also really, really hated it.

Like now.

He gave a quick scan of the immediate area. Good. It was empty, unless the humans had perfected some really advanced shielding technology recently.

Carefully, he started his transformation process, trying to shift as it happened so he kept himself hidden behind the surrounding buildings—these were probably a good third less than his standing height. Not good for disguise purposes.

He edged forward carefully, on his knees to keep himself below visibility levels. Damn government secrecy. A quick glance behind him showed that his doors—his 'wings,' in Mikaela's terms—were still above the roofs at their lowest. Double damn.

He stretched them as low as they could get, feeling the complaint in the gears—if he popped something, Ratchet was going to eat him alive. Still, it was better than getting reamed out by Optimus and the military. And causing a mass panic. And possibly revealing the presence of the Autobots to the world's general public.

A little bit further—nope, more mud.

An alert went off and he froze. Organic presence, coming up behind him. On foot, so he had a little while, but there weren't any turn-offs at between here and there, so he was going to run into him unless he turned back.

Bumblebee quickly analyzed the options.

Swiftly, he moved forward, ignoring how it would look highly suspicious to anyone with the right vantage point. Around the corner, like that—there. The ground was slightly drier here, at least.

The alert was still blinking at him in irritation. It should have been deactivated—

The pin dropped, and he turned around to find himself face-to-face to a small group of frozen soldiers holding coffee cups and cigarettes.

"Slag," he muttered. Half the soldiers jumped.

"Whoah. The report wasn't a joke," one of them said finally.

"I _told_ you," said another in return. "But no, you don't trust me. –Admittedly, _I_ wouldn't trust me if I said something like that…"

Bumblebee relaxed. "You're the gate guards?" he said, hopefully. If they were, they had the right classifications. None of them had probably seen any of the Autobots out of their alt. forms, so it was possible. At least one of them had, though—he looked vaguely familiar, too. One of the ones from the first meeting with Landslide, possibly.

One of the soldiers jumped and screamed.

Oh. Apparently they hadn't heard any of them talk before, either.

"Yes," said the familiar one, voice casual.

He relaxed fully, although was still careful to keep below the rooflines of the buildings he was sheltered behind. "Whew," he said. "Superior officer would've had my aft—er, ass—if it'd been otherwise." A few of the soldiers laughed, startled.

"I guess some things don't change no matter what," said one person, voice rueful and still a little shell-shocked.

Bumblebee nodded his agreement. "Universal law—it has to be. I'm Bumblebee, by the way."

"Much better name than NBE 2," said the first person who'd spoken. "I'm Ben Johnson."

"They're still calling me that?" he said, disgruntled. The soldiers were seeming considerably more relaxed.

"I don't think you remember me, but I'm Cahler," said the familiar one. "You were the one with the kids when the sulky one showed up, back home."

"I thought I recognized you…"

"That's because he doesn't know when to shut up," said another soldier.

A text message from another Autobot flashed across the screen. _What's holding you up?_ it read, with Optimus' Cybertronian signature accompanying it.

_Nothing—just distracted,_ he sent back quickly.

Aloud, he said "I'm sorry—need to get going. Technically, I'm on patrol right now."

There was a small, ragged chorus of understanding. Carefully, Bumblebee initiated the re-transformation process, still trying to keep switching parts from showing too badly above the building. he thought he'd been at least moderately successful.

"Holy _shit,_" breathed one of the soldiers as he settled down onto his tires, an '08 Camaro once more, if a really muddy one.

"See you around," he said, just to see them jump again. They did.

"Bye," said Cahler, still sounding like he'd been pretty much unaffected.

Bumblebee just caught one of the soldiers saying "That was _incredible_," as he drove away. Internally, he smirked. Yep. Second to none.

oOo

"All set?" asked Irene. She was looking over a page in a badly worn notebook. In places it looked like her pen had pressed so hard it'd gone through the paper. There were doodles interspersed through the data filling the page.

"All set," affirmed Kristine. She was up a ladder, facing a new section of wall, already diagrammed with a light grid in pencil.

"Alright, then. Five groups: lilac 5, shell pink 4, orange cream 3, lemon ice 2 and mint green 1. The last two have three sub-groupings: 2a, 2b and 2c, and 1a, 1b and 1c. All on Day 1."

"No colors for the subgroups?" asked Kristine.

"Nah. I'd have needed to break out of the pastels. Okay. Five plants each for each group or subgroup. Subgroup 2a: 5 milliliters solution. 2b: 10 milliliters. 2c: 20 milliliters. Subgroup 1a: 10 mils. 1b: 20 mils. 1c: 30 mils." Irene paused long enough for Kristine to finish forming the table.

"Lilac five-one—alive. Ditto Lilac five-two, five-three and five-five. Lilac five-four—dead, but possibly a contaminated sample."

Irene paused as she waited for Kristine to finish writing. "Shell pink four-one through four-five, all alive." There was another pause. "Orange cream three-one—dying, but sickly to begin with. Orange cream three-two through three-five—alive."

"Lemon ice 2, subgroup 2a, plants one and five—dying. Plant two, half dead. Plants three and four, dead. Subgroup 2b, plants six through ten, dead. Subgroup 2c, plants eleven through fifteen, dead.

"Group mint green 1, subgroup 1a, all plants excluding four alive. Plant four, alive but wilted. Subgroup 1b, plants six through ten, alive. Subgroup 1c, plants eleven through fifteen, alive."

She waited again for Kristine to finish.

"Why do you use the colors?" asked Solarity.

"To make it easier to reference when we're looking through the experiments," said Irene.

"So it's the group with chemical 2…" said Kristine contemplatively. "That's the one with the weird carbon structure?"

"No," said Irene. "I think your thinking of chemical 4. It's the one with all the iron."

"That might be explained by all the red meat."

"I don't know. So clearly chemical 2 is a potent toxin, but we don't know why it's there at all, or how it's being affected—neutralized?—by the presence of another plant. We need another set of experiments."

"I'll take notes, and then find someone else to do it," said Kristine. "Ratchet's left the cellular analysis for you to look over, so you're going to be busy."

"Thanks. Okay… How do I want to do this. Okay. Keep monitoring the first set, and call it Set I—that's in roman numerals. Set II… Four sets of plants, each one with chemical 2 plus one of the other chemicals, and one with all the chemicals mixed together. All with five plants in each set, I think." There was a long pause as Irene thought. "That should be it for now.

"And what colors do you want?"

"Russet, burnt umber, mustard yellow, olive and mud," she responded. "The paint's under the table with the cobalt blue samples."

"Okay, got it. Here's the reports on the cellular functions."

"Oof. Okay, time to get reading…" Irene reached over blindly with her foot, hooking it around the leg of a stool and pulling it over to her, already absorbed in the report as she sat down and flipped to a clean page in her notebook, pen back in her mouth.

Kristine shook her head. "You're going to get ink on your face again," she told her. Irene didn't respond.

oOo

"Be careful!" snapped out Charles Cleve.

"Sorry," muttered Evan, blushing a mortified red. He just couldn't seem to manage anything—it was humiliating. All his worst fears were coming true, really. He should have known better than to relax, considering the people he was around. Irene was usually pretty tolerant, and she was his mentor on the team, really, and the one he worked with most because of that, but Mr. Cleve wasn't used to him—he was used to working with people on a comparable level to him, doubtlessly, and Evan just—wasn't.

But now to concentrate on the task at hand. Carefully, he inserted the syringe into the vial—the one he's almost dropped twice already—and measured out 50 milliliters of the fungicide it contained before handing it to Mr. Cleve.

"It's a little over," said the mycologist doubtfully. "We need to be precise with this."

Evan felt his ears burn. "I'll re-do it," he said, reaching forward to take the syringe from him.

"I've got other things to work on," said Charles, turning away from him preemptively as he held out his hand, waiting for him to take the fungicide. "I'll—"

The movement made his hand end up colliding with Evan's, the point of the syringe sticking plunging into Evan's palm. He hissed with surprise. "Please stop moving," Evan said carefully, trying to stay calm. Carefully, trying not to jostle anything, he reached forward and delicately pulled out the syringe, relaxing a little as he did so. The poison wasn't designed to disrupt human systems, but it was potent none-the-less, and he didn't want to imagine what it had the potential to do to his systems.

"…You _stupid_ boy!" hissed Mr. Cleve, once he'd turned and realized what had happened. "Be careful! This is an actual lab, not high school; we're not working with sodium bicarbonate in solution, this stuff can be dangerous! Thank God you didn't try to major in chemistry, you'd have killed yourself by now—thought that might be a plus, come to think of it!"

"I'm sorry," muttered Evan again, feeling a little shaky. The way his hand had been curved around the instrument—just a little bit of pressure would have injected the thing into him.

"'Sorry' doesn't save lives! This is real science, it can be _hazardous_ because what we're dealing with is hazard—"

"Maybe he'd do better if you weren't so over-critical," suggested a coolly disapproving voice above them, interrupting. Evan jumped a little, and Mr. Cleve blanched.

"No," said Evan hurriedly. "He's being very reasonable—I, I just seem to keep on making stupid mistakes…"

"Most of it's nerves, and he's just encouraging it. I've seen you working with Irene and Kristine, and you're more than competent, even at this level."

"It's ridiculous," snapped out Mr. Cleve, recovering himself, "that you're defending him. From what I've heard, Irene Gray is hardly the scientist she seems to think she is—or the government, for that matter, so I suppose the delusion's not entirely her own fault. And Kristine, the blonde, right? Hah! One of those people proving every stereotype true. It's a scientific fact, women just aren't as well-suited to science as men are. Sure, they can manage alright if they're bright enough, but they have no purpose at this level. So far, nobody I've worked with has proven even mildly satisfactory."

"…what?" said Evan, totally blindsided.

"_What?_" came Mikaela's voice from a little ways away, threat clear in her tones.

"You're clearly biased," said Nimbus, voice switching from fairly neutral tones to dismissive and slightly annoyed ones.

"Mrs. Gray is one of the best scientists I know of," said Evan, looking incensed. He seemed to have gotten over his confusion.

"And, as a grad student, you're highly qualified to make that remark?"

"What, in the name of God, is going on?" said Keller irritably.

There was an immediate chorus of responses from Evan, Charles, Mikaela and Nimbus. Gyro added in his own voice, but that was just laughter—again.

"Lord," said the Secretary of Defense. "I don't want to have to deal with this. Cleve, I want you to understand that sexism, even sexism backed up with questionable pseudo-scientific generalizations, is not going to be tolerated. Given what I've seen, I'm also un-inclined to listen to you when you say you were in line when it comes to your behavior with Evan. He's done some good work already, despite his age, enough that he came to our attention and assigned to an emergency team, while _you_ have not—and don't mistake a single consultation as a regular post. And Ms. Gray, a key member of the team for a number of years now, and a highly regarded scientist regardless of her gender, has assured me that Evan's more than competent, and she's known for her high standards. Don't assume that you can just come into an established, working team and run slipshod over the other members just because you happen to be older, male or a specialist in the issue we're facing."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary," muttered Charles.

"Go get some food and some rest, and I want to see a _change_ when you're back on the job bright and early tomorrow morning." He glared sternly at the scientist, who finally turned and left, halfway between cowed and sulkily rebellious.

Keller sighed, and turned an eye to the Autobot who'd interfered. "Nimbus, right?" he said.

"Yes," he replied, carefully, as if worried what the reaction was going to be.

"I thought so. Thank you for stepping in. The situation was getting out of hand, and it's essential that the team function well to get this figured out."

Nimbus looked taken aback. "It was no problem," he said, then seemed to be at a loss for words.

Keller smiled dourly. "Also, Cleve's rubbed me wrong from the moment I met him, and I'm not a bad judge of character. Damned pompous idiot, he is. You're the ex-Decepticon, right? Must be hard for you here."

"Yes," said Nimbus quietly.

"Alright, then. I was only stepping in to drop off the newest report from William—I'm due in another meeting with the Brazilians. I'll see you all later. And Evan—remember that I trust your judgment a lot more than Cleve's."

After a minute, Sam and Mikaela made their way over to the lab station. Evan was sitting on a stool, looking a little shell-shocked.

"Hey," said Sam, a little awkwardly.

"I can't _believe_ he said something like that…!" said Mikaela to nobody in particular, fuming.

"Why'd you speak up for me?" blurted Evan, looking up at Nimbus.

"He was out of line," he said simply.

"But—you're the Decepticon," said Evan, looking nervous and stressed and confused and tired.

"_Was_," said Nimbus quietly, head turned away. "I _was_ a Decepticon."

"What made you change?" said Mikaela finally, a little nervous herself.

Nimbus simply sat, silent, for a long slow moment.

"I was fairly high-ranked," he said at last. "Enough that I was put in charge of a colonizing mission. I was told to make landfall on the planet with my team, assume disguises and then make a strike for control at the most ideal moment. We were to exterminate the sentient species and any other that could jeopardize the mission.

"But we ran into an Autobot coalition. My squadron was attacked and killed even before we fully entered the planet's atmosphere. I was the sole survivor, and severely damaged by the fight. I crashed into the shallow sea that covers much of the planet, and lay there, helpless, until I lost consciousness.

"When I awoke, I was being attended to by the sentient species of the planet. I tried to attack them—I had assumed I was being attacked—but was unable to even move. My injuries had allowed some important circuitry to be corrupted by the saltwater, and I was… worse than helpless. Still, I had managed to break the legs of one of their children. They continued to treat me.

"I raved at them for days. Eventually, I grew quiet. They never left me alone. I was with them for three months, in local time. At that point, I had healed to the point where I could walk again. I was not yet capable of leaving the planet.

"So I wandered the world—it was something like this, but still very different—and learned. I hadn't known that the child whose legs I had broken had probably died of it. I learned that they had all risked the winter storms to stay with me as long as they had. I learned that there had been a minor Decepticon-Autobot war on the planet a few years previously, and that they were well aware of what I was capable of doing, and had been ordered to do, and had nearly done.

"And in the end, I couldn't do it. I waited until I had healed enough to manage spaceflight, then left the planet. I never reported back to Decepticon bases; I've probably been presumed dead, lost in the same battle that killed my comrades.

"I've stayed out of things since then. And it was one thing to stop being a Decepticon, and another to become an Autobot. Eventually, I stopped hearing any transmissions at all, from any line. Until yours. And I was—lonely.

"But I am not a Decepticon anymore."

There was a long silence.

"I'm sorry," said Mikaela, not sure what she was apologizing for, other than for asking at all.

"Thank you," said Evan, a minute after Mikaela.

There was another slow, solemn, silent pause.

"It's nothing," said Nimbus at last. "It was all a long time ago. And we learn." He sounded sad, and lonely, and made it seem like it really wasn't 'nothing' after all.

oOo

Irene frowned as she flipped through the now-worn pages of the report on the plants' cells.

After a minute, she looked up long enough to find the stack of papers that made up the chemical analysis of the plants. She flipped through it, pausing when she came to the right page.

"Oh my _God,_" she breathed.

Kristine looked up with a fair bit of alarm as a slightly wild-looking Irene came running into the room at full tilt.

"ATP," she said.

"Adenosine triphosphate," said Kristine back.

"No—it's not in the infected plants. At all. It's just not there. They've stopped producing it. There was something weird about the mitochondria, and I went back to check the chemical list, and it's not there."

"What?" said Kristine. "That's crazy. Where do they get the energy?"

"We already didn't know that. Now we just know less, but also more."

"Let me see," said Kristine, reaching for the papers. Irene handed them over.

"The ones earmarked in the lower right corner," she identified. Her 'filing system' of shorthand, identifying marks and organizational systems could be kind of confusing to anyone who, well, wasn't her, really.

"You're right, and I might have just bought into your alien theory, too. _What_ are they doing, though?"

"Haven't the foggiest. I plan on finding out, though. I'll go find Keller—you want to track down the rest of the team?"

"On it. I can't believe this…"

"I know—the sky deciding to change its color. I think this's shaken me worse than the giant robots did."

oOo

"There's something about chemical 1 and chemical 2 in combination that's keeping the plants alive," said Keats musingly, to himself. "Somehow, they cancel each other out. But the ones on their own die. They can't produce chemical 1 alone? But that doesn't make sense. It would be a huge evolutionary disadvantage… How would something like that come about? You'd think that they wouldn't produce chemical 2 at all… But we don't know if it has some sort of purpose. Remember: sickle-cell disease. (2) So what's chemical 2 doing?"

"Keats," said Kristine urgently, bursting in. "We've got something of a breakthrough. One that goes into new, confusing ground, true, but it's there. Take what you've got and the breakroom in five, okay? Okay." She didn't wait for an answer, just left, breaking into a dead run.

Keats frowned. He was on to something, he knew it.

oOoing at all.an was apologizing for, either than and it'y scientistticons.

(1) Almost definitely not true, certainly not literally, but even someone who weighs 130 pounds soaking wet feels like they weigh a lot when they're on top of you. Especially when you're heavily bruised from being thrown around by nervous giant alien robots.

(2) Sickle-cell disease is caused by a partially recessive gene (well, allele, really) that causes red blood cells to be deformed. When someone has two positive alleles for it, they almost always die very young—the malformed cells don't work right and cause all sorts of nasty problems. However, when someone has one negative allele and one positive allele, _some_ blood cells are malformed, making the person less healthy than they would normally be, but considerably more resistant to malaria, a parasite that lives in the bloodstream common in the region the mutation comes from—West Africa. And that's why sickle-cell disease is still a problem, despite evolution—or maybe because of it.

--end chapter 7--


	8. Chapter 8

**Alien**  
**Chapter Eight**  
By Dreaming of Everything

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Transformers, I just borrow and twist and mutilate and play. The characters that are mine, however, are, in alphabetical order: Barnabas Cahler, Charles Cleve, Coldfront, Evan Fitzgerald, Gyro, Irene Gray, Keats Anders, Kristine Christopherson, Landslide, Nimbus, Solarity, Toni Martinez, and William Curtis, and a handful of bit-characters that never really got fleshed out.

**Author's Notes**: Finally! It's here! I promised something a little… _different_, and this is it. This chapter is also the reason for all the Autobot OCs, other than that I like writing them: I know I've told several people (at the very least) that I needed them for something, and this is it. …Yeah, I know, it's pretty a weak reason. You'll see what I mean.

As always, huge thanks to the miracleworker who is my beta, mmouse15. She is incredible! Thanks so much!

**EDITED 1-23-08** to remove notes that _should_ have been removed. Sorry! And thank you very much to the reviewers who pointed out my mistakes: Fire From Above, Caz and Conna Stevenson, in backwards order. Thank you so much, you guys!

**EDITED _again_ 1-26-08** to remove notes I missed the first time around. Thanks, mmouse!

oOoOoOo

"They're all connected," said Irene happily, slapping the closed lid covering one of the fig samples for emphasis. "They're all connected because _something_ they're doing—probably something connected to their metabolic process, judging by how crazy it is—creates a highly toxic chemical, and they need a separate plant to produce the chemical that neutralizes it, and so _they're all tied together_ via their roots, meaning that this lovely little toxin that Evan and that bastard have cooked up only needs to be injected into each over-all _mass_ of plants, each 'community,' to use one of the current lame buzzwords, instead of each one individually. And it means that most plants won't survive long even if they do end up infected, which looks to be a rare, rare occurrence, from Evan's and Charles' work. Thank you, God and the evolutionary process!"

"So what happens next?" asked Sam. "I mean, you know how the plants work, kind of, and you've got something that'll kill them, but if anyone gets too close they'll attack, and they're still dangerous. How fast does the poison work? Or can you just use a plane or something to spread it overhead, or something like that?"

"A direct injection's best, apparently," said Kristine.

"We—well, the government, really—has got engineers working on mocking up some airtight, heavily insulated full-body suits with something to catch air once it's been breathed out," continued Irene. "And once that happens they'll probably be given to some overly-muscled military team who'll be given instructions and then dumped off in the Amazon, where we'll supply them with syringes full of finely tuned herbicide-fungicide-weird-alien-chemical mixtures, a few wind-up decoys so they can find out which plants actually _are_ infected and some more thorough information, and then they'll go do the deed."

"And then they'll stick around and there'll be regular patrols and then there'll be a long, angry campaign by some group of all-organic environmentalists that the government will ignore (1), and then we might get medals. If we do, I will seal mine in inert resin and leave it in my fish tank." Kristine added.

"…Why?" asked Mikaela, a little nonplussed.

"Because otherwise it might upset my water quality, which would be horrible for my poor little tetras."

"No, I mean why are you—"

Kristine snickered slightly. "Oh, that, of course. Well, displaying anything you've won is, of course, vulgar—it's somewhat acceptable when you're seven and it's your parents displaying your music lesson trophy or something, but at my age, it's just plain unattractive. But then, it feels somewhat wrong to just throw something like that away—and the fish seem to like them. Once they've been rendered chemically safe. Certainly it makes for an interesting centerpiece. If I bothered to write something up about how it was a statement about American government I could probably pass it off as modern art."

Keats, who'd just walked in, sighed loudly. "Kristine…" he began.

"Keats…" she mimicked.

"It's weird," said Mikaela. "All that frantic work and then—nothing."

"It's science," shrugged Kristine. "Let me put it like this—let's pretend we're in an action movie. There's a hero. He's one of the people charged with getting the infected figs killed via injections. There'll be something about his angsty emotional state, which will_ almost_—but not quite—prevent him from succeeding in his mission and saving the world. Possibly alcoholism. And he'll have a kid and a wife about to go through with the divorce. In the course of the movie we'll see their reunion, and it'll be a touching, emotionally feel-good ending scene. We'll meet the rest of the team. But everything we just did? It would be a 30-second scene where one of us gives a brief moment of exposition about how the poison works.

"And life's like that. With a few exceptions—Edison, Einstein—the inventions that change the world, or save it, get ignored. …Of course, it also helps that watching someone defeat great odds to save the day in a very physical, literal way is more interesting than watching sleep-deprived scientists fiddle with bits of greenery. Well, except when Irene was messing around with the wind-up mice." (2)

"It's really different from last time," Sam said.

"Previous to antibiotics, more people died of infections than actual wounds during wars," added Irene. "Can you name who invented the refrigerator? You'd be amazed how many lives that invention saved. If we're lucky we'll be named in a handful of newspaper articles. I prefer that, actually."

"I understand that," said Mikaela. "Nobody knows either of us were involved with Mission City at all. It was weird, to save the world and get awarded a medal in a private ceremony by the President and then go back to school, where my chemistry teacher chewed me out for missing our practical exam."

"I'll second that," said Sam feelingly.

"Well, it's not quite like that for us," said Kristine.

"We're all somewhat famous in certain scientific circles by now," added Irene.

"Let's just say that Evan wasn't being _entirely_ unreasonable when he freaked out when he heard who he was going to be working with," said Keats. "I was more than a little skittish for the first month or so, myself. Of course, he should have calmed down a little by now…"

"He's young," said Irene dismissively. "Of course, people like that utter ass Cleve don't help… Anyways, he'll grow out of it, whether I have to involve myself or not."

"What are you all going to do after this?" asked Mikaela.

"I'm back to the lab and my list of projects," said Kristine cheerily. "I'm working with jellyfish next! Keep an eye out for something revolutionary and world-changing in the next three years or so stemming from them. I'm not telling you anything more, sorry."

Sam laughed. Kristine looked at him blankly. "What? I'm being serious." She paused. "Well, mostly. There's always a chance that it's another dead end."

"I'm hoping for a chance to stay in the Amazon a while," confessed Irene. "I haven't had a chance to look around yet—and it's an incredible place. I'd never forgive myself if I just left. I owe myself a vacation, anyways. And it's not like I haven't been learning Portuguese for the past ten years for a trip here, anyways."

"And I've got papers I'm working on," said Keats. "I'd tell you, but the government would be forced to kill me. It's in the contract."

"—you're not serious?" asked Sam, somewhat serious himself.

"Mostly not," said Keats. "Although I really can't tell anyone anything. It's a bother—my mother keeps on giving me the ninth degree. Not to mention _you_, Irene."

"Cute. Come on, I just want to know if it's the same thing that I was working on last year, we never did get it all wrapped up but it showed promise—"

oOo

_Sir?_ sent Coldfront to Optimus Prime.

_Yes?_ he replied, trying to hide his (far-too-obvious) surprise. The 'bot sounded almost hesitant, which made him think that it wasn't some little, niggling detail or clarification, but instead something more like what they were trying to get him to do—that is, develop something like a personality.

_It—occurred to me,_ he said, stiffly, _That several Autobots currently present, including myself, are equipped with temporary heat-baffling systems to prevent detection by Decepticons while in the field._

_Yes…_ said Optimus, nonplussed. The revelation wasn't anything much—all spies and a few others were equipped with the same program. It had been developed after a particularly bloody period in the war, a long ways back; there'd been a lot of those, moments where one side or the other developed something that gave them an advantage, and then a leveling-off as the other side developed something to counteract it. It was mostly outdated, now, and pretty much ignored.

_Then we may be more capable of delivering the fungicide than the humans, and without the current waiting period._ Coldfront's 'voice' sounded stressed, harried—Optimus knew that it had probably taken a lot for the Autobot to suggest even that much.

_Yes. Excellent point. Thank you, Coldfront._

_Yes, sir_.

Calling up the stats lists he had for all of the Autobots currently under his command, Optimus scanned them. Bumblebee, Coldfront, Gyro, Ratchet and, somewhat surprisingly, Ironhide. He'd never been outfitted with the program, himself; it was usually for spies and people who needed to remain sneaky and unseen; that was why Bumblebee and Gyro had it. Coldfront was a fairly neutral build, not obviously meant for one function or another (science, spying, fighting) and had probably had any number of functions, over the years—although Optimus didn't want to imagine what life would have been like under that commander he'd had. Ratchet had probably reasoned that he might need it for field work. It made sense for him to stay out of a fight as much as possible.

And Ironhide? It was highly unusual for a weapons specialist to have that sort of specialized shielding. He'd probably wanted it for the chance to get close enough to do more damage, Optimus thought, darkly amused. A mutual acquaintance of theirs had once described his approach to fighting with "I'd think he was suicidal if I didn't know him better."

"Bumblebee, Gyro, Ratchet and Ironhide, over here," he called back, and there was the slightly awkward shuffle of Autobot bodies switching around in a too-small space. With very few exceptions, human buildings just weren't big enough to comfortably contain an average-sized Transformer. He could barely move—the smaller ones were more comfortable. The smallest, the size of Gyro down to the thankfully-dead Frenzy and possibly tinier, were the only ones without any real problem. After so many days of restricted motion he was almost jealous.

"What do you want?" asked Gyro brightly, light tone the only thing keeping his question from being insolent. Optimus ignored it, while a stricter commander (Coldfront's old one, for example) would have made a point. The current situation was hardly the formal military one that had existed since before the beginning of the war and only ended close to the end of it.

"You're all outfitted with heat bafflers?"

A series of slightly confused looks were directed at him—except from the still-present Coldfront, of course.

"Yes, sir," came in ragged chorus.

"Good. Are any of you willing to help remove the infected plants? With heat baffles in place, we effectively disappear for them, making it safer for us than for humans, even ones with protective clothing."

"Absolutely," said Bumblebee quickly, not bothering to hear the rest of what Optimus had to say.

"Finally! A chance to move," said Ironhide, looking positively delighted—at least, as much as he ever did. "I'm in."

"Sure, why not?" continued Gyro, who wasn't laughing for once, although there was still that deep humor bubbling up through his voice.

"Yes," said Ratchet simply.

Four pairs of optics turned automatically to stare at Coldfront.

"It was my suggestion," he said stiffly, glancing quickly at Optimus as if to judge his reaction to that—Optimus muffled a sigh. Oh well. Coldfront was getting better, at least, and he should see even this much progress as more than he could have hoped for.

"Well, then, let's do this thing!" said Bumblebee brightly.

"I think you're forgetting something," Ratchet replied. "Your hands. The syringes are made for humans. Gyro, you might be able to manage, and I could probably cobble something together out of my medical tools—" He sounded, somewhat reasonably, upset about that prospect "—but you three are going to be useless. It's not a general-application spray, or anything like that."

There was a brief silence.

"Really _big_ syringes…" said Bumblebee, voice mock-speculative. Gyro giggled, Coldfront frowned deeply and Ironhide jabbed the smaller mech in the side, who glared back in return. Ratchet was rather amused by the mental image that idea conjured, himself.

"We can offer the information to someone in the appropriate position, regardless," said Coldfront at last.

oOo

Irene walked into the Autobots' room carrying a large duffle bag, which she dumped carelessly on the ground. It clattered loudly.

"What've you got?" asked Solarity keenly, looking over at the woman. Irene half-rolled her eyes. They'd all gotten _very_ used to Solarity's questions.

"Jab sticks!" she explained, mild annoyance switching quickly to an excited, happy look.

"What?" said Solarity, confused. A few more Autobot heads turned, bored enough to be interested in the conversation.

"Jab sticks—they're poles with syringes attached to the end. I was using them on some bear research I did once, a good long while ago—it was a vacation, really, I was helping out a friend. So, you can trap a bear, right, but then you need to get close enough to it to knock it out so you can fit it with the radio collar and take a handful of samples and measurements and tag it. And that can be quite exciting when you've got a 300-pound enraged animal with _claws_ flailing around as much as it can trying to kill you. So there's jab sticks—poles with syringes at the end so you can deliver the drugs without getting yourself killed."

"Alright," said Solarity agreeably. "Makes sense. Why do you have them, though?"

"When the bear project finished there was a whole bunch of extras, and we were losing the building we were renting so I took 'em with me on the theory that they had the potential to be useful."

"…Why do you have them _here_, though?"

"Well, Kristine wants to use them—something about jellyfish—and so I promised her that I'd mail them to her, since I'm not using them right now, but then I heard we were coming here, and it was cheaper to just stick them in a spare duffel bag and bring them like that."

"'Here' as in this room."

"Ohhh. You should be more specific when you're talking, you know." Solarity laughed at Irene's light teasing. "Kristine was telling Keats about the jab sticks during lunch and Evan overheard and suggested that we see if we could mock something up for you that could let _you_ use them, because you have the potential to be really helpful when it comes to dealing with the figs, and so Toni—" Irene scowled darkly "—is coming along in a few minutes to see if he can do anything, since he's the most mechanically adept one among us, and then we talked one of the gate guards into getting some supplies—duct tape and wire, mostly—out of one of the janitors, and he'll bring that around, too."

"That right there's what I miss about spending time with other scientists," said Solarity, tone slightly sad. "The way ideas spring into being like that—"

"You're a scientist?" Irene asked.

"No—well, yes and no. I never showed huge promise, but I received basic training for the scientific fields. About one and a half years in Earth time before I finished I was switched into a fighting unit." He shrugged. "It happens. I miss the other… students who were in my group, though—haven't seen most of them for years, and there's a good chance they're all dead."

"I'm sorry," said Irene simply.

"No matter. It was a long time ago, but I had a wonderful time. And time heals all wounds—I even remember the punishment details with a certain amount of fondness, now."

Irene snorted. "Punishment details? Before you say anything, then, I'm going to guess that certain Transformers in whatever-it-is-that's-your-equivalent-to-college are just as prone to the things that certain human college students are…"

"Probably not what you're thinking," admitted Solarity. "Mostly we—my friends at the time and I—got in trouble for doing things like tweaking the other students' experimental setups so they gave nonsensical answers, or sneaking into the labs during off-hours. –and blowing stuff up, that happened a lot too." (3)

Irene got vaguely misty-eyed. "Oh, bless. Now I've got memories of my _own_ college days playing through my head. I continue to claim, to this day, that the time my best friend replaced our teacher's demonstration chemicals with dyed water was one of the best moments of my life. It was also the best front-of-the-class example, ever, period. 'This should be working, damn it!'"

"Mature, much, Irene?" asked Toni, walking in. Irene's face went blank and then quickly soured before straightening again.

"At least I'm not a sour grape," she said sweetly.

Toni flushed angrily. "That has nothing to do with this and you know it—"

"Oh, now, I'm not sure I do. And you can seriously say that you're not the slightest bit bitter I've been turning you down since we started working together…?"

"I'm not saying I'm not bitter, and I'm not saying I am, but if I have a problem I'm going to talk about it with the other person involved like the adult I, at least, am—"

"Then what do you call this argument?" Irene especially, who'd had a cooler tone at the start, was beginning to sound angry, but Toni was as well. "Talking it out like the adult you are?"

"I call this argument your childish refusal to act your own age—"

"Fine. I'm immature. What, then, what exactly is it, that attracts you to immature women, Toni?"

Solarity in particular looked utterly bemused.

Toni opened his mouth angrily to reply but paused instead of speaking, then closed his mouth, relaxing abruptly, the tension draining out of him. "You're right," he said, voice quiet and intense. "I'm out of line. I'm sorry."

Irene glared at him one, two, three seconds longer, and then turned and stalked angrily away, heading over to the remains of her lab station—it had been mostly dismantled and the remaining figs had been neglected, both the infected and uninfected ones, languishing in their glass cages: almost all of them were starting to crisp up, drying out. Absently, Irene started watering one of the uninfected plants, slowly trickling the liquid into the clear cube that was still serving as a planter pot, letting it loosen up the constricted dry dirt bit by bit. The one she'd picked had soil so bone-dry that the water she poured in puddled on top of the matted soil, and she felt vaguely guilty.

She looked over as the door swung open and shut again, a vaguely familiar gate guard and a peeved Kristine stepping inside.

"If I don't get my jab sticks back in good shape, I am going to be highly annoyed," the blonde announced to the world at large, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.

"You can always buy more," said Toni reasonably.

"I'm over-budget as I am. Do you have any idea what custom two-thousand-gallon-and-up jellyfish tanks _cost_? _I_ didn't." She paused for a quick second. "Sadly, I do now. And I'd really rather not have to choose between eating only instant ramen noodles for a month and paying my heating bill. Actually, wait, it'd have to be the ramen, because some of the tanks need heating, too, and we can't have _them_ getting too cold. Or the cool-water ones getting too hot. Electricity's a must too, because I need to monitor light levels, although thankfully I can do some of that with sunlight."

"Jellyfish?" asked the soldier, looking interested despite himself. "Damn, I hate those things."

"At the moment, they're my darlings, but I'll probably feel different when I've been messing around with them for a few months," said Kristine. "The jab sticks here should keep me out of reach of their stinging symbiotic unicellular organisms, and my nasty human impurities—such as hand soap or lotion, say—out of their tentacles as well. And their bells."

"Bells?" Solarity asked. Technically, it would be very easy for him to just a run a quick search online, but he liked the answers people gave more. They tended to be more informative, even—or maybe especially—when they weren't correct.

"The blobby part on top," Kristine qualified.

"Is that a technical term?" Toni asked dryly. "It could be an acronym—BPT, or something to that effect…"

"Too much like BLT," Irene said; she was walking back over. "You'd have undergrads thinking it means something like bacon, pear and tomato sandwich, or something like that."

Toni made an expressive face of disgust, although Irene ignored him pointedly.

"Bacon, pea and tomato sounds more likely…" Kristine said thoughtfully.

"Ew, I hate peas," Irene said, wrinkling her nose.

"—and pears and bacon together are better than peas?"

"Yes, definitely."

"…I'm sensing a dare."

"Whooo, damn, we really are immature, aren't we? I'd totally do it for the right incentive."

"I told you so!" Toni said, and Irene ignored him. Kristine rolled her eyes.

The soldier snickered quietly to himself, attracting Irene's attention.

"So, do _you_ think we're immature—" she paused to read his nametag "—Cahler?"

"Not at all, Ma'am," he snapped out neatly, everything about him saying 'repressed laughter.'

"I knew you looked smart," Irene drawled out.

"Hey, Cahler," Bumblebee called out from a ways away, making the soldier start slightly and look over at the Autobot, belying his totally relaxed outward appearance. "How are you?"

"Hey," he called back, and Kristine raised a perfectly questioning eyebrow.

"It's a long story," he said, and Kristine nodded.

"Under ordinary circumstances I'd pump you for details, but I've had more than my fair share of those in the past few days, and I think I'm starting to understand."

"Bonding under stress is all well and good, but lets see if we can get these jab sticks rigged," Toni said decisively, walking briskly forward.

"Can I help?" asked Cahler and Solarity almost simultaneously, both brightly interested.

oOo

"Thank you," said Keller formally, addressing the five Autobots in front of him: Bumblebee, Ironhide, Ratchet, Gyro and Coldfront.

"Yes," echoed William. The scientists, a handful of soldiers, Sam and Mikaela and Keller and his retinue were gathered to see them off.

"You've all been a big help already—and this makes a huge difference. Thank you." Irene's expression was uncharacteristically serious.

Coldfront nodded stiffly at the woman, who smiled at him.

"Be careful," Sam said from Bumblebee's feet, a hand on his ankle, looking up at his friend. Mikaela, Sam's other arm wrapped around her and her hand over his on their best friend, nodded seriously.

"Don't worry," he whispered softly to them.

"Let's _go_," whined Gyro insistently, and they did.

Kristine muttered a soft prayer under her breath, to herself.

oOo

Sam had been asleep, but the sirens had woken him up.

His first instinct was to find someone he knew: Mikaela, or the Autobots. The corridor outside his room was just as deserted as it normally was. He knocked urgently on Mikaela's door, around the bend, but there wasn't any answer. Halfway to starting to panic now, Sam made his way to the Autobots' building, hurrying across the narrow strip of muddy, rutted, struggling grass that separated them instead of taking the corridor, which would have kept him dryer, but would have taken longer.

He didn't notice the way the earth bulged unnaturally behind him a few seconds after he entered the building, as if some giant creature was heaving, spasming beneath the surface.

Mikaela was there, looking shocked and a little frightened, her face pale and her eyes wide, with a tense look in her jaw.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

"The figs have gotten into the building," Gyro said promptly. His tone wasn't laughing, or even light: for once, it was deeply serious, as was the Autobot's body language. Sam looked at him askance, the huge change in personality more unnerving (because it was on an easier scale to manage, some back corner of his mind whispered) than the fact that he'd just announced that killer figs had made their way into the refugee base they'd formed. "Lives in danger aren't a laughing matter," he said, grimly, in an aside to Sam.

"I need to help," Mikaela announced.

"It's not safe for you, little weak thing," said Landslide.

"None of you can manage the syringes."

There was a short pause that felt like an eternity. "Solarity, go get the gate guards," Optimus said at last. "Sam, Mikaela, I need you to prepare as much of the chemical as you can. After that—you'll be safer with one of us, even if you're fighting against this. I'm assigning you to Solarity, once he's back. Gyro, go see if you can help fight back the fungus in its main break-through point."

"Why's he here?" Mikaela asked Sam quietly, most of her attention still fixed on Optimus.

"I came back when my jab pole fell apart," he said. "Coincidence. I need to go." He nearly blurred into motion.

"Landslide, go help with that as well. Fight back the infected figs as well as you can, and remember that your primary purpose is to help the humans escape safely, to save lives."

"Yes, sir," said Landslide, promptly for once, face unusually open: there was something almost nervous about the eyes, and his stance was determined as he left, ducking through the now-opened doorway, not bothering to transform. It was too late for a subtle approach to work: you couldn't fight as a car.

"Nimbus."

"Sir."

"Help them as well, once you've found Keller. If he has other orders for you, they override mine. Tell him he needs to organize the camp: panic will only cause more deaths."

"Acknowledged." The ex-Decepticon strode away.

"And you?" Sam asked, looking over as Mikaela led him over to the store of fungicide-herbicide.

"I'll do whatever I can," he said, and left as well.

Solarity was back minutes later, a double-handful of nervous soldiers with him.

"We're with you," Mikaela said, not bothering to look up from the syringe she was readying. She added it to the pile she was forming. There was one next to Sam as well.

A soldier stepped forward and joined them, then another—there wasn't room for more than four people around the table. Solarity fidgeted, looking worried.

The room was empty minutes later.

oOo

It was hellish chaos: people screaming, and the relentless drumming of rain, and jostling crowds and the eerily silent wall of greenery snapping at the outskirts.

Irene caught a glimpse of Gyro slashing at a tangle pulling a panicked man into the darkness, single-minded and intense, before she slipped in the slick mud and went down, grunting as a foot glanced across her ribs. She'd just started to panic before Evan was there, pushing people away from her and pulling her up.

"What's happening?" she half-heard and half lip-read, the screaming crowd too loud for her to hear him well, even when he was half-yelling.

oOo

Mikaela waited, calm, as the vine reached out and grabbed, hold almost gentle but impossible to stop, to resist, wrapping around her arm and moving out to catch the rest of her, then stuck the tip of the syringe into the branch, as close to the main stem as she could reach, and pushed the plunger down fully. The branch tightened, convulsed, ready to drag her away and grow into her and through her, digest her without ever eating her, but then the toxin took affect and the branch fell away. The effect traveled, until she was in a strange zone of calm. It had been a big bush, this one, she thought quietly to herself.

Sam stepped over towards the human figure slumped over a little ways from them, but stopped before he reached it, backed away. He shook her head as she looked at him, face grim.

Solarity stepped over both of them, snapping the twining strands that had reached their way around him. He bent quickly and they worked what they could of the plant out of his joints, and then they moved on.

People were still screaming. The forest was still alive.

oOo

The four of them forced their way through the thick jungle, still watching for signs of movement.

There was only so much they could hurry over terrain like this, even knowing what had happened. Optimus had commed them.

How could things have gone this utterly wrong? They'd run patrols, they hadn't come across anything abnormal in the forest surrounding the base.

They'd done something wrong, then, or missed something.

Ratchet tugged aside another branch and slid between two trees, and his audio receivers caught a blur of unexpected noise.

"They're up ahead. Hurry." His voice was tense and worried.

oOo

Kristine was trying to force someone to take charge of the frightened child she'd found and rescued, but nobody was calm enough to listen. Besides her, one of the lab assistants—they'd mostly been helping Charles and Evan, she didn't know them well—was trying to keep people calm and organized.

Landslide, towering above them, was trying, uselessly and desperately, to keep back the forest with its thousand-million grasping hands. He only had two.

He moved seamlessly aside as Gyro moved in, three soldiers fast behind him, armed with syringes. The mob of people surged forwards again, although there was nowhere to go, fighting to get away from the figs and from the Autobots.

An emergency vehicle she recognized as Ratchet pulled in, followed by Ironhide.

"Where do we take them?" growled the truck, his hologram (and Ratchet's) enough to make her blink, exhausted.

"Main bunker. It's concrete all the way through." She shoved the sobbing child into Ratchet's front seat and went to help Toni try to keep people from mobbing the cars. Two of Keller's secretaries-cum-bodyguards jogged over to help.

oOo

William squinted, trying to get a clearer look at the arm he was bandaging—his glasses were currently fragments mixed into mud, lost somewhere between the bunker and his room—and frowned.

He'd had basic emergency training for dealing with lab accidents. He'd never expected—or wanted—to put his knowledge to this sort of use.

"Thank you," said the harried doctor a short ways away from him, wiping blond hair out of his eyes. He couldn't see the doctor's face, but his voice sounded like he was on the edge of desperation. He might have said something else, but the words were lost in an outbreak of yells and startled screams a ways away, as someone tried to make a break for the door, looking for someone they'd lost.

The elderly botanist wondered where the other scientists were.

oOo

Bumblebee was searching frantically for Sam and Mikaela. He couldn't find them.

He'd found Solarity, and when they'd found a calm enough minute he'd asked about Sam and Mikaela. He hadn't seen them, but that didn't mean much in the crush of people and his own concentration on the one-sided battle. He could easily have missed them.

Solarity had told him that he'd left them with Gyro, but Bumblebee had just talked to Gyro; he hadn't said anything and directed him towards Solarity even though he'd mentioned who he was looking for in particular.

He hurried along as well as he could without endangering the humans pressing through the complex until he caught a silvery glimpse of an Autobot—

Only it wasn't an Autobot. Not exactly.

"Mikaela," said Nimbus tightly as he caught the obvious warning in Bumblebee's glare, and a small human figure a short ways from his feet looked up. She was mostly unharmed, no serious injuries: there were a few scratches, but nothing worse.

"Bee!" she cried, running over to him and wrapping her arms around what she could reach of him in an impromptu hug.

"Mikaela," he replied, relieved, texting Nimbus with a polite, if slightly terse, apology. "Do you know where Sam is?"

"With Landslide," said Nimbus, voice still cautious, and Mikaela choked on the mouthful of water she'd been swallowing, nearly dropping the bottle.

"How'd _that_ happen?" she coughed out.

oOo

Sam had no idea how he'd ended up with Landslide. The two of them, Mikaela and himself, had been shuffled around a lot, first connected to one Autobot and then another, for one reason or another.

He'd been pretty nervous at first. He was sure (well, almost sure) that the Autobot wouldn't purposefully hurt or kill him, but he sure as hell didn't trust him to keep a good eye on him over the course of the conflict. Actually, he was surprised the Transformer was bothering to help at all…

…But he was. He really was. And he was very good at this: he seemed to be in two or three or maybe more places at once, always helping, always knowing exactly what to do, and they needed that: the figs were everywhere. Sam had seen him plunge into the heaving forest after people who'd been dragged in, the ones who still had a chance of being alive: some people were already pierced through with vines, clearly dead, as they were pulled in. He'd seen one person who had seemed fine, just unconscious maybe, until he'd gotten close enough to see the roots piercing his back, stretching up from the earth, and the wriggle of the feeding vines bulging underneath his tight-stretched skin, like the maggots that had been filling a dead bird he'd found as a child.

That had been the second time he'd thrown up.

Sam began to look for Landslide again. He needed more syringes—

He didn't even know if there was any more of the mixture: they hadn't planned for something like this. And they couldn't wait for it to travel through the full network of plants, even though it would use less of the potion. It was too slow, and there were people dying.

People were dying.

He hoped one of the scientists had mixed some more. He didn't know how much they had used and how much more they would end up using and how much more they needed to use at all.

A vine reached him, appearing out of the darkness with surprising speed, and he reached for his last syringe and fumbled with it. He felt something in him sink as it dropped to the muddy ground.

—and then he was moving, being pulled upwards and out and away, but it was by Landslide and not the figs, so that was okay.

He was glared at once, quickly, roughly and thoroughly, and he had the same sense he got off of Ratchet sometimes, that the Autobot looking at him was seeing more than any human could—without specialized equipment, at least.

Sam was set back on the ground, but away from the figs, away from the threat. People around him scattered as Landslide knelt, moving close enough that Sam could hear his voice over the noise. The figs were quiet, but nothing else was.

"You're useless tired," the Autobot said, eyes narrowed, and Sam knew that he'd been watching him far more closely than he thought, to notice how his movements were starting to slow with exhaustion. He also had the irrational feeling that Landslide was worried about him, at least a little, and that that was his way of telling him to get some rest before he got himself killed. Adrenaline could only do so much.

oOo

Bumblebee was in motion before Landslide's message was even fully registered: he got the coordinates and reacted.

He didn't trust Landslide. Having Sam around him in such a hazardous situation worried him almost as much as having Mikaela under Nimbus' eye. Why had the only two humans directly in the line of fire and not currently in service to the U.S. military ended up with the two least trustworthy members of their ranks? Nimbus couldn't even be called that much—he wasn't an Autobot—and he was probably more reliable than Coldfront.

And then he realized that the message was a snidely-worded deeply-worried request to get Sam out of danger because he—Landslide—was worried he wasn't doing well and, in his words, 'he didn't want anyone blaming him if anything went wrong.'

Huh. Maybe he wasn't bad as he tried to make himself seem. Or maybe he was even worse at dealing with other people than Ironhide was, and nobody had realized it.

—or maybe he was a smug bastard who was finally realizing, for the first time, that maybe he _didn't_ really think that the world would be a better place sans humans. That seemed more likely.

Hey, even the stupidest 'bot had to learn sometime, right?

oOo

Keller let himself relax a little. From the reports that were coming in, he thought that things were starting to calm down. The battle was beginning to ebb, like any tide.

oOo

Everything was motionless, except for the still-falling rain, when the late dawn began to work through the slowly-forming cracks in the clouds that were filling the sky.

The figs had stopped moving around three in the morning. The fighting had stopped at four, when the last of the panicking crowds and half-formed mobs had dissipated. They'd had two hours since then, and the fallen bodies on the compound grounds and the ones littering the edge of the forest had been removed, taken away. Later they would see what they could recover from the forest itself. Even a body riddled with dying vines was more of a comfort than a never-answered question.

But for now, everyone sleeping.

oOo

(1) Brief disclaimer: I, myself, am something of an environmentalist, but I'm also something of a humanitarian. Real-world example: there are people up in arms about a new plan that uses judicial applications of DDT (painted on the walls of houses) to help prevent malaria in Africa. I am all for this, because it has the possibility to save hundreds of thousands of lives and _yes_, DDT has some negative environmental impacts, but it also doesn't cause terrible birth defects (in people) and the way it's being used isn't the no-holds-barred blunt-force mass-amounts-everywhere approach that inspired Rachel Carson's Silent Spring. (End ranting. Sorry 'bout that.)

(2) I may be getting slightly self-referential here.

(3) Side-reference, anyone? Take a guess.

--end Chapter Eight--


	9. Chapter 9

**Alien  
Chapter Nine**  
By Dreaming of Everything

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Transformers.

**Author's Notes**: To be a little melodramatic, the end has come. This is the last and final chapter of this fic. I am not planning a formal sequel.

…And the astute among you will have noticed the 'formal' in there. I am starting a string of oneshots set in this 'verse, collected under the title Alien: Not Over Yet. Once you see the first chapter up, feel free to pop on over there—and perhaps make a few requests, if there's anything in particular you want to see. At this point, I am open to suggestions!

I will also be putting up an "encyclopedia article" about the not-really-Cordyceps figs on my writing livejournal, dream-it-all (dot) livejournal (dot) com, if you're interested in reading it.

Finally, thank you so much to all my reviewers for this fic: my first story for Transformersverse, my most OC-intensive story ever, a big long mess of a not-really-action but definitely gen fic, and a great ride from start to finish—for me, at least, and judging from my reviews, for some of you as well. Thank you!

**And a big thanks to mmouse15 for betaing!**

oOoOoOo

The funerals took a long time: the speeches were all being translated, from English into Portuguese or from Portuguese into English. Mikaela wasn't crying, but her eyes felt oddly dry and prickly. Next to her, Sam was clutching at her hand, and she was gripping back just as tightly. A few chairs down, Kristine was crying quietly.

A lot of people had died. It was more—immediate, than it had been before, with the battle for the Allspark. People had died then, too, but not as many, and there had been a personal grief: less so for Sam and Mikaela, but they'd known Jazz, too, with the sort of familiarity that comes naturally from fighting a battle, one you know you might lose, with someone. This time, nobody they had known had died. The scientists, the Autobots of course, even the soldiers given guard duty who knew about the Transformers—all of them had lived. Instead, it was faceless Brazilian refugees and misplaced tourists.

Mikaela had recognized one of the women sobbing over a coffin: she'd talked to her in the hallway, once, with Sam. She'd been slightly stupid, well-meaning and with her husband: now her face was lined with inconsolable grief. It had torn sharply into her mind, a sudden stab of her own pain.

They'd cremated the bodies. The coffin the woman was crying over wouldn't have anything but ash inside it. The risk of spreading infection had made it necessary.

It was a greater tragedy, and less personal, and that made it hard to bear. And Mikaela couldn't help but feel responsible, feel that she could have done more. That she could have saved more lives.

oOo

They'd been running searches all week, travelling further and further away, with the base as a zero-point, combing the forest for infected figs. The searches were, in Irene's words, "mind-numbingly thorough." They didn't want to risk anything. The breach that had occurred at the base had been bad enough.

The scientists thought that they had a cause for that, though: a ravine that had never been fully investigated by the Autobots, too steep and overgrown for them to traverse easily. The vines had run into the walls surrounding the refugee camp and home base of operations and been baffled. Blocked by the wall, they hadn't attacked anyone, remaining undetected and simply spreading until the root system had gotten under the compound.

Then they'd been defenseless.

Nobody was going to make that mistake now. Nothing was getting past the new searches: they'd found dozens, possibly hundreds, of new clumps that had been eradicated by the teams that had been organized, made up of an Autobot and a handful of supporting humans.

Much to Kristine's disgust, the government and the Autobots continued to dip into her duffel bag of jab sticks to form Transformer-usable syringes.

They only discovered the meteor craters on the fifth day, and even then one of the soldiers had been wounded by the time they fought their way through to them. It had been the thickest wall of infected plants they'd found, and Ratchet had been wary.

He had ordered the humans to back away and was investigating the craters himself when the back-up they'd radioed for arrived.

"Good timing," said Cahler brightly as Nimbus pulled into the clearing, letting out another four soldiers. Solarity circled the area once before touching down lightly, transforming in midair to land next to Ratchet. "We've just finished working our way through. Ratchet wants the humans over here, though. I think he's found something."

There was a slight shiver of sound and Ratchet's saw made an appearance, slicing cleanly through one of the meteors.

"Holy shit," someone muttered.

"What's happening?" asked Solarity, peering over his shoulder.

"I think there's another infected patch over there," Nimbus said, eyeing a portion of forest over to one side.

"Damn," said another soldier tiredly. "I wish we'd stop running into this stuff."

"As my dear dead mother, God rest her soul, used to say," said Cahler, face comically straight, "'If wishes were fishes, no one would starve.' Or 'If wishes were horses even beggars would ride.'"

"Cahler, your dear dead mother called last night to remind you to write her letters, wash your socks and find a nice someone to settle down with."

"Whatever, smartass. That's merely semantics."

Their captain ignored them with long familiarity and addressed Nimbus with an ease that had grown over the week. At the beginning, he'd jumped whenever the ex-Decepticon had spoken, and then been increasingly angry with himself for his reactions. Now, he was almost comfortable, even with Nimbus, who was the most visually frightening, with the more aggressive, spiky Decepticon build.

"I think we should wait for Ratchet and Solarity to finish, and then go at it together," he said.

"I agree," said Nimbus. "This area's the worst we've seen. It's not a good idea to split our forces. I'll find out what Ratchet's doing and then double-check with him."

_What have you found?_ He sent silently to the other Autobot.

There was a long moment of silence before Ratchet replied.

_—__I need to get back to the lab. The scientists need to see this. We can come back to finish this tomorrow._

The medic sounded serious enough that Nimbus didn't question him.

"We're heading back," he said simply. "I think Ratchet's found something."

oOo

Sam was woken up by the noises caused by multiple people running through the hallway outside his room, pounding on doors and shouting. He looked blearily at his cell phone, sitting on the rickety Brazilian-government-issue bedside table: three in the morning. He groaned with sheer frustration and slumped back down on the bed.

Five and a half minutes later it still hadn't stopped, and he decided to give up. He searched out a pair of pants and the shirt he'd worn the day before, pulling them on in the nearly full-dark room and then stumbling out into the hallway, squinting against the bright lights.

"What's going on?" he asked William, who was walking quickly past him, down the hallway.

"We think we've discovered something about the fungus," the elderly botanist said, voice intense. "We—the scientists—have been told to meet at the main research building—" which meant the Autobot building, a sort of joke "—in five minutes, for an explanation. You can probably find something out in the morning."

Sam shrugged sleepily to himself. _He_ certainly had no desire to listen to complex scientific discussions he almost definitely wouldn't understand. He'd bother Irene for a Science-to-English translation in the morning or something.

In the meantime, he was going to sleep.

oOo

Irene was positively beside herself with joy. "Ahah! Alien! I _knew_ it!"

"We're never going to live this down," sighed Keats.

"Who'd have figured that her crazy who'd-of-thought? alien organism theories would have turned out correct, right?" agreed Kristine, sighing. "Well, I mean, besides me, once we figured out the whole lack-of-ATP deal."

oOo

"Ratchet wants us carbon-based creatures safely outside," said Irene lazily as Sam approached her and reached for the door knob to the Autobot building.

"Why?" Sam asked, turning away from the door to face her, curiosity and concern, or at least the potential for it, mixing in his expression. "Bumblebee said he'd like to head out for a drive after his shift finished… Has something new happened? Does this have to do with all that noise last night?"

_And cue expression switching to all-out worry,_ thought Irene, somewhat dryly, to herself. Out loud, she said "Oh, yeah, William mentioned he ran into you last night. Ratchet thinks he found something—there's this one spot, probably the epicenter of this whole disaster, absolutely rotten with infected figs, and smack-dab in the middle of that was a meteor crater. Ratchet has the meteor holed up in there for tests, and—from what I can gather from non-scientists, IE Gyro, and not-trained-in-organics quasi-scientists, that is, Solarity, yelling through the door, there's essentially some sort of… Well, alien virus inside it, only even more dangerous, because viruses just warp DNA and subvert cells to their own evil purposes. Actually, ignore that last bit, let me try this again."

"Sure," said Sam willing, confused but also amused—which wasn't all that unusual around Irene, all things considered.

"Alright, then. Viruses are not-really-alive, not-really-not-alive packets of DNA that take over cells, right? This alien-thingy does something similar. No DNA, of course, that's an earth-specific gimmick, but it's designed to copy whatever systems it comes in contact with, within certain parameters. Well, not 'designed,' but you get the point. In this case, it first came into contact with spores from some Cordyceps or other, and they happened to be dusted over a fig plant…"

"That's… That's crazy! How does _that_ work?"

"Says the person who has a giant-robot-cum-car as a friend. An unnervingly humanoid one. How's _that_ for parallel evolution? …Or parallel something, anyway, apparently asexual giant robots don't have a real parallel for evolution at all, except for post-creation modifications, and _those_ were only undertaken once the basic template had been more-or-less established, at least according to what Coldfront was telling me. Of course, the Autobots also have what amounts to definitive proof of Intelligent Design for their own species, at least, so I suppose this wasn't the best argument at all, really…"

"You really are great at blundering around blind in the Forest of Confusion after you lose track of the mostly-overgrown trail that is your train of thought," interjected Kristine, mock-impressed, turning the corner to join the other two.

"Psh. You're just jealous of my genius. Anyways, Sam, in conclusion, you shouldn't be surprised by _any_thing at this point, and Ratchet doesn't want us in there while he's working with the meteor because he's not sure that all the not-really-virus things are all 'dead'—and I use quotation marks around dead because they aren't really alive in the first place—and we _really_ don't want those things to end up mixing with, oh, let's say for example, humans."

Sam shivered slightly. "Okay, that makes sense. If Bumblebee sticks his head out or something, could you tell him that I went to find Mikaela to tell her about all of this new stuff?"

"Sure. It's not like I've got better things to do—and I'm being serious when I say that, for once."

oOo

"So you want us to do a panel," said Irene flatly. "Why, exactly?"

"I've been talking with the Autobots," said Keller. "They've agreed to reveal their presence to the leaders and top-level government officials in other countries, presumably because they're hoping for cooperation with other countries as more Autobots arrive, not to mention Decepticons, and that works better when said countries also know they exist. At the same time, I need to inform the rest of the world about these figs, because of the potential risk—and so that we hear about it if anything else like this shows up.

"So we're doing a combined video-conferencing—well, web-conferencing, I can't keep up with all these changing vocabulary words, seems like you get used to something and then it's outdated—meeting to inform them about the two things. In fact, we're using the fact that the Autobots were involved with the figs and our struggle with them as the reason they're being introduced. The diplomats and politicians will be gathered together in a secure location, using a single secure line—we don't want the potential for _anyone_ to hack into this—and you'll be on the other end, at the end of things, to answer questions about the figs, and probably to add a little reassurance about the Autobots. Are you willing to do this for me?"

Irene sighed dramatically. "Why not? I'm not free for a day or two, still, and I might as well cast light and understanding into the darkened world while I'm at it."

There was a moment of dead silence, and then Evan tried—and failed—to stifle a giggle.

oOo

"Any questions?" asked Irene brightly, smiling at the panel of still-shocked high-powered world officials. Being able to help with the sort of lecture they'd just finished presenting—privately, she thought of the title as "Giant Fucking Robots, Evil Space Viruses, and You'—almost made up for being forced to dress for the occasion. You just couldn't face the leaders of half the world in jeans and a t-shirt with your hair down, no matter how much you hated wearing suits and doing anything to your hair more professional than a pony tail. Even if it _was_ a video conference.

Keats, seated beside her, subtly knocked her elbow with his arm. Hmmm. The agreed-upon symbol for "stop looking so smug." And she thought she'd been doing well, too…

"So you're sure this… Space virus isn't a threat anymore?" asked the British Prime Minister, looking extremely unamused.

"There's no threat of it bonding with another species," said Irene. "Evan? Would you explain?"

He shot her a panicky glance—Irene bit down on another smirk. She would be hearing about this later.

"The receptive state appears to be triggered by the heat of entry into a planet's atmosphere," explained Evan carefully.

Yep, definitely nervous. "Once that's triggered, there's only a short window of opportunity for the virus to connect to a carbon-based organism. If that doesn't occur, the… 'virus' dies off. Once it's bonded with something, it can't alter that DNA—or DNA equivalent, in the case of another planet—anymore than you or I can alter ours. William, would you like to cover the spread of the altered Cordyceps through fig populations?"

"The Cordyceps infection is easily spread through direct contact with other figs, but only once the plant spreading the fungus has made contact with another infected plant. Under ideal circumstances, an infected fig plant will produce a fruiting body, more or less equivalent to a mushroom, but the odds of the spores it releases infecting a new fig are minimal, and the odds that the newly-infected fig will meet up with another one within the span of a few days even less likely. If it doesn't, it will die."

"How do you explain the evolutionary circumstances that would bring about an organism that's made to spread between planets?" asked one of the Chinese representatives through an interpreter.

"As of this morning, we think it's a biological weapon created by a now-extinct alien race—there are a few snatches of information that make it fairly likely, if you go back far enough into our records," interrupted an apparently disembodied—and not quite human-sounding—voice. Several governmental representatives jumped or twitched, and they all looked distinctly unnerved.

"Ratchet?" asked Keats, looking amused. "Is that you?"

"Yes."

"This is Ratchet," William introduced to the roomful of people on the other side of the camera; his voice had a distinctly sour note to it. Dr. William Curtis did not take well to unexpected interruptions, even ones presenting qualified information. "The Commanding Medical Officer of the Autobots. He probably would have been present for this meeting, but he's too big, like the rest of the Transformers—except for Gyro, who's on patrol." And also not a good choice for anything that required diplomacy, but he wasn't going to say that.

"So you hacked into the system or something?" asked Irene, sounding terribly amused.

"We got permission first," cut in Solarity, the slightest hint of mock-reproach creeping into his voice. Several of the politicians and diplomats jumped visibly—again.

"Fine. What were you saying again, Ratchet?" William clearly wanted to get on with this.

"I've been searching through our records, and there's a few mentions of an alien race, now extinct, that had been locked in battle with another civilization a few solar systems away. Their primary weapons were often non-specific in their targets, but were also designed to only be harmful to carbon-based life forms, so our scientists at the time took little interest in them. The species probably responsible for this were hydrogen-based; there's a fair amount of research on their biology and its implications on their culture, but not much else.

"The material of the meteor could possibly originate in that sector of the galaxy, and it's in line with the little reliable information we do have about that species; it's our only reliable guess at this point, since it's extremely unlikely that something like that could have come about by chance."

"_Fascinating,_" Irene said, suddenly animated. "That would explain a lot… And it would be the ideal biological weapon, wouldn't it? One that can't harm you no matter if it ends up on your side of the battlefield or not, and has almost no chance—effectively no chance, in fact—of mutating to the point where you would be affected by it…"

"Does the panel have any more questions?" asked Kristine pointedly, interrupting Irene's musings.

"How many… Cybertronians?" asked a diplomat, half stumbling over the final, unfamiliar word.

"Nine Autobots," said Solarity promptly. "Two Decepticons unaccounted for, and one Decepticon symbiote missing, presumed dead."

"But there are more of you out there," pressed the diplomat.

"We hope so," started Solarity, before he was interrupted by Ratchet.

"We don't know. It's extremely that numbers range above two hundred left for both factions; (1) it's far more likely to be more in the range of fifty, total."

"_Unlikely_ to be more than two hundred… And they could land _anywhere_."

Optimus' voice cut in. "I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots."

He paused for a minute, to let that sink in. "You have my word that we, the Autobots, will work with you, and fight to protect humanity, from the Decepticons especially. But that can wait; are there any further questions for the scientists?"

"If the leader of the Decepticons is dead, this Megatron fellow, how big of a threat are they?

"We're hoping that some Decepticons will agree to live peacefully on earth, or even switch to Neutral status, instead of a named faction, now that Megatron is dead and the Allspark has been lost. However, many Decepticons are violent by nature and won't want to rein in their tendencies; others will hold a grudge, either against humanity for their role in the Mission City incident or against the Autobots for centuries of war. Yet others will join or try to lead a new Decepticon order, filling the power vacuum Megatron's destruction left. We believe that is what Starscream, Megatron's second-in-command and one of the unaccounted-for Decepticons, is currently doing."

There was a blank silence.

"Good. I'll get in touch. Optimus Prime out."

"So… I need to go measure CO2 emission levels for contaminated figs within the next fifteen minutes," said Irene, checking her watch after a minute of silence. Evan looked torn between horror, outrage and disbelief at her utterly casual, unaffected attitude, even when faced with a good percentage of the most powerful people on the planet, convened for a top-secret disclosure.

The Mexican vice-president seemed to recover herself a little, shaking off her shock and looking at her notes briefly.

"What's the likelihood of the contaminated figs being exported?" she asked.

"Preliminary evidence suggests that contaminated fig plants don't produce syconiums—that is, fruit," said Evan promptly.

"Hmmm. Thank you," replied the vice-president somewhat distractedly, jotting down another note.

"How much contact did you have with the Autobots?" asked someone, face and tone blankly neutral.

"For me? A lot," said Irene. "I was working in their assigned area. Several were invaluably helpful, not only with the physical aspects of working with the figs, out in the jungle, but with the science. Ratchet arguably played a bigger part than I did in this whole ordeal."

"Very little," said William, adjusting his glasses absent-mindedly. "I was in another of the three main labs. Zoologist Toni—Antonio Martinez was in one, investigating the animals found dead; Evan and I were focusing on the spread of the fungus, later with help from mycologist Charles Cleve; and Irene was working on the behavior and reasons for observed behavior with help from Kristine and Keats. Antonio and _Mr._ Cleve were forced to leave early, for unrelated reasons, so they're not present for this meeting."

"The rest of us fall somewhere in the middle," said Evan, fighting to control a blush—he hated his painfully fair complexion—as the conversation brought back memories of his own adjustment period to the presence of the Autobots.

"We also currently have on base two teenagers who have worked closely with the Autobots in general and one in particular, since before Mission City," said Keller, from the back of the room the diplomats were in. As Secretary of Defense he'd had to leave Brazil early. "They're not available for questioning, they're both underage and lack parental approval, but of them have only good to say about the Autobots. In fact, I think they owe several of them their lives—and after this brand-new debacle, I think the reverse is true as well. They had quite a role in our little security slip-up.

"While I'm up here talking, thank you to all of you for agreeing to this, and thank you for your open-mindedness."

"You could have brought this to our attention sooner," someone said sharply.

"The Autobots are an independent governmental body, albeit one operating within the borders of the United States of America," objected Keller. "You'll have to ask them their own reasoning later."

"I don't know," said Irene quietly, an odd little almost-dreaming half smile on her face. "I'd feel a little cautious about revealing myself to the dominant species if I crash-landed on an alien planet."

oOo

"So what's left?" asked Sam. He was leaving the next day with Mikaela and Bee, and most of the rest of the Autobots: Optimus, Ironhide, Nimbus and Ratchet. Gyro, Solarity and Landslide were staying behind a while longer, to help with clearing out of the last of the figs and whatever else there was to do. Coldfront hadn't opted to stay or to return immediately to the United States.

"Don't forget to say good-bye tomorrow before everyone leaves," said Kristine, lugging a bag that clattered suspiciously like jab sticks down a corridor.

"Where are you guys headed?" asked Sam, speeding up a little to catch up to her.

"I'm off to bask in the bioluminescent beauty of my jellyfish," said Kristine."William and Evan are staying here to keep on working with the figs. I think Irene's going to run around the Amazon for a few weeks or a month. And Keats is back to his regular job, poor sap."

"Heh. I'll be getting used to normality again, too. I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my summer."

"Hanging out with your potential-model girlfriend and alien robot car," said Kristine teasing lightly. "I don't know _how_ you'll ever console yourself. I sure do know that I'm the lucky one—who wouldn't want to spend the summer in a dark, damp, refrigerated basement poking holes into primitive bags of goo? I'm telling you, company isn't good company unless it is, in the most literal sense possible, brainless."

"To be fair, I'm pretty sure the Autobots lack a brain, too," said Irene, falling into step with the other two. "In the most literal sense, as you put it, definitely. Also, a nervous system at all."

"Well, they definitely have a pseudo-brain," said Kristine, looking thoughtful. "And they feel pain, so they must have some sort of parallel version of the nervous system, as well. Therefore, they don't count."

The two women looked at each other, dead serious for one second, two, three, before they broke out into giggles. Sam had to stifle his own smile.

oOo

Irene surveyed the thick tangle of jungle in front of her with barely-suppressed and growing excitement, even through the growing let-down of a finished project and the slight depression of good-byes.

But she'd borrowed a car from the government, she didn't need to worry about money since she was finally tapping into her lifelong Visit-the-Amazon fund, and there were no projects, major or minor, looming on her calendar for another two months.

Today was the start of the culmination of a lifelong dream. She couldn't believe this was finally happening! The _Amazon!_

Turning to head towards the borrowed, parked car, Irene was slightly startled by the sudden appearance of another vehicle, most definitely not government-issue and strangely familiar—especially considering that she was Not A Car Person, and could barely pick her own, rarely-used vehicle back home out of a lineup. In fact, the newly-arrived car was the same color as…

"Coldfront?"

"Yes," said the car, almost cutting off the end of the word, he finished it so fast. That was unusual: while he was short-spoken, his words were usually brisk, precise and professional, measured and almost atonal.

"Hey! Didn't think I'd be seeing you again for a while—nice surprise, and I say that although I was _wrong_. What's up?"

"As you may know, Optimus Prime has given me temporary leave-of-duty." Or forced it on him, actually, but Coldfront hadn't been, and wasn't, in any position to argue. "As I… don't have anything to do, I wondered if you would appreciate a ride home."

"You do realize that I might not be leaving a month and a half," said Irene carefully. "So you're, what, offering to chauffer me around the Amazon for as long as I desire?"

"…Yes."

The scientist eyed him, expression unnervingly perceptive, before she spoke.

"Alright, then. Thank you."

Wordlessly, surprised by how relieved he was, Coldfront popped open a door.

Irene's wide, calm and strangely understanding smile turned slightly goofy, unexpectedly, as she approached him. "Well, first I need to drop the ugly government car off," she said, almost apologetically.

oOo

"So, what do we do with the rest of the summer?" Sam asked.

"Not get involved in mysterious, life-threatening plant epidemics," said Bumblebee promptly. Sam laughed.

Mikaela, though, just sighed. "_I_ need to tell my mom about you guys—" she patted Bee's steering wheel in demonstration "—and then convince her you're the good guys and _then_ explain why I didn't tell her sooner. Which should keep me busy through college."

"Get the Secretary of Defense to call," said Sam helpfully.

"I'm really not sure that that would make things any better." Mikaela slumped even further into her seat, the picture of teenage despair.

"I'll help," said Bee brightly. Mikaela tried to hold her miserable expression, although it didn't work for long. Finally, she started laughing; her boyfriend—and that thought never failed to make her feel warm and happy, deep inside—joined in, and even Bee let out a brief crackle of static, his version of a laugh.

They hadn't been driving for long, no more than an hour or two, but Mikaela had no idea where they were—somewhere inside the Amazon Rainforest, she supposed. The string of cars (well, Autobots) that had started out together from the base had broken apart as each Transformer found a comfortable speed for them and started to settle in for the long run. She was guessing that they were somewhere out towards the front: Bumblebee was something of a speeder. Mikaela could understand. With the sort of speeds he could manage, and with the sort of reflexes he had, sixty miles per hour was probably pretty boring.

The three of them settled back into their comfortable silence, Sam just zoning out and Mikaela getting caught up in the world flashing past them along the sides of the road.

The silence was finally interrupted by a crack from Bee's radio, and then Optimus' voice.

"Because Nimbus still has time to complete for his probationary period," he said, "I'm looking for someone to be his watcher for a while. Bumblebee, would you be interested?"

"I would, but I'm already watching Sam—"

"Does this mean I have a probationary officer now?" Sam whispered to Mikaela, who snickered.

"—and another expensive sports car, especially one with a 'driver' that isn't Sam, since Nimbus doesn't have a good enough holographic system to synthesize a realistic human face in motion, (2) is likely to cause suspicion. Since Nimbus has proved his loyalty to the Autobot cause already, can't you just write him off as free to go?"

"No, it's procedure," said Optimus, sounding almost amused. "Maybe if you assigned some of your duties to Mikaela Banes which would, I believe, take care of those problems…"

Yep, he definitely sounded amused, Sam thought. Mikaela choked on a mouthful of water and then almost spilled the bottle as she coughed. Sam had the sense of mind to take it off her hands.

"We all know Nimbus is a true Autobot, just one who still happens to have Decepticon symbols. I'd like him to have the time to adjust to earth and our unit, and maybe a little guidance. I understand if you're still hesitant when it comes to him, Mikaela, although I had hoped otherwise—"

"No—what? I don't have any problems with Nimbus. He's saved my life. I'd be happy to, uh, let him crash in my driveway."

"Good. _Good._ I am also trying to follow protocol here, in case this becomes the precedent." Sam's eyes widened as the significance of that registered—Optimus thought that more Decepticons would arrive and switch factions. "Bumblebee?"

"Understood, sir. I accept. …But what's Nimbus' opinion of this?"

"Thank you, and I already know I made a good choice, asking you—now that you've gotten over yourself. Nimbus said he would be happy to be paired with any willing Autobot, if one was available. I'm giving him the full details of the situation now, but I doubt he'll be upset."

oOo

"Hey, Mom, I'm home!" Mikaela called, poking her head in the door.

"Mikaela! My little girl's back—"

"Mo-_om_!" Mikaela rolled her eyes, but smiled anyways. Yeah, her mom was a little embarrassing, but she really did mean it, and she didn't take herself _too_ seriously.

"How was it?" her mother asked, coming out onto the porch as Mikaela returned to Nimbus to drag her bag out of the back. "Oh, my—_Mikaela_! Where did that car come from?"

"I swear it's legal, and I'm not in trouble, I haven't been in trouble, and if you'll just go on a little drive with me I'll explain everything, I promise!" Mikaela babbled, slightly desperately.

Her mother looked hard at her, then sighed. "I hope you're right. Okay, I'll go—put your bag in your room, first, I need to take dinner out of the oven anyways."

"Here's to luck," Mikaela whispered out of the side of her mouth to Nimbus as her mother retreated to the kitchen, pausing just to shoot one more questioning glance behind herself, worried about her daughter. Then she ran up the stairs—it was time to get this over with.

oOo

"Thank God Mom finally let me out of the house," Mikaela muttered sourly to herself as she stomped down the porch steps, towards the waiting Nimbus. Yesterday had been the final day of her two-week grounding for 'keeping something like that secret.'

Of course, her _dear_ mother had also informed her that it could have been a lot worse: "I would have grounded you for the full summer, but I'm going to be nice, for two reasons. First, this isn't an easy thing to explain, is it? And second, the government didn't want you to, and that's a lot of pressure to stand up to."

At last, her confinement was over! She was free once more!

"Hey," she said, slipping into the car. "Sorry to leave you hanging for so long—At least we can go do something now. Do you know where Sam's house is?"

"Yes," said Nimbus softly.

"Is something wrong?" asked Mikaela, pausing suddenly. His voice had had some strange undertones to it.

"Thank you," he said abruptly. "You didn't have to agree to do this for me."

"What? I…" Why had this come up _now_, matter of fact? He hadn't mentioned it any of the times that she'd been riding in him on the way back up from Brazil… "I don't really know you all that well, yeah, but you seem nice, and saving my life at least twice that I can think of is sure to count for something, and I know you could probably manage with just your holo, but it's sure to be easier for you with a human driver—and I have to say, it'll be nice to not have to rely on Sam and Bee for rides any more…"

"I'm sorry I caused a conflict between you and your… Mother."

"That has nothing to do with you—or with anything, really. I needed to tell her sometime, anyways, and I didn't really want to keep her in the dark. It was hard, yeah, but it needed doing. I just used you as my example instead of Bumblebee."

"…And I understand that it's unlikely that you'll ever be fully able to trust me, regardless of whether or not I have saved your life. Especially once other Transformers—other Decepticons—start arriving. All of us are waiting for people we're almost positive are already lost, already deactivated—dead. Mine are Decepticons. There's a chance a few of them will at least agree to a truce of non-violence, but…

"That won't help anyone trust me, even if some of my lost friends do set down their weapons. Actually, there's no guarantee that any of them will trust me, either. At that point I will probably need to distance myself from humanity, for its protection. I can't risk either one of my old companions or myself getting… Careless."

"We'll cross that last bridge when we come to it. And I think saying that you'll need to separate yourself from us sentient organics is a little extreme—I'm not telling you to take risks, but give yourself a little credit."

"You don't understand! It's easy when I'm simply around you—the differences are obvious. But it will be harder when it's old friends, people I'm _used_ to, I'll stop thinking about being careful and controlled, it will be far too easy to simply be careless because I know _them_ and I know it's… I don't know how to verbalize it in this language, but it's an unnecessary risk for humans."

"Whoah, Nimbus—calm down, okay? It's not entirely your choice to make, for starters. We humans can think for ourselves sometimes, even. And I think there's a good chance that _we'll_ become friends, so what, you're just going to abandon me because you're worried you _might_ get careless which _might_ lead to a situation in which you _might_ end up hurting a human. Slow down a little, okay? And who's saying that I don't trust you? Sure, I don't know you all that well, but there's time to fix that. And I'm not going to lie when I say that your alt form makes me a little nervous, it's kind of… Spiky and aggressive-looking, I'm sure you have scanning systems that can tell you that for yourself, but it's not something I can't get used to. Just relax, okay?"

"…Thank you," said Nimbus again, voice tight and miserable. Mikaela sighed.

"You just sound like I made things _worse,_" she said, slumping forward, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. "That wasn't what I wanted to do. What is it?"

"It's nothing to do with you."

"You're a horrible liar," Mikaela all-but-giggled, unable to help herself. "Seriously. What is it?"

"You're being very understanding. Do you understand what I have _done?_ What the Transformers I am familiar with have done and do not regret?"

"But you're not your friends or comrades or whatever you're calling them, and you're not the only one who has things in their past that they don't want to think about. Yes, even among us humans. Hell, even among us _young_ humans. Ever heard about a second chance, or do Decepticons not do those? What about Autobots?"

"Decepticons usually don't," said Nimbus, but he seemed to have lost a lot of the tension that had been filling his voice. "Autobots do, though."

"Come on, then, let's go wake Sam up. There's someplace I want to show you—and I'm pretty sure those other two won't be upset we're heading out there again. Actually, it's where we were the day this all started…"

oOo

"Morning, sleepy-head!" Judy said, loud enough that Sam could hear it through his door.

"Nnngh… Mom, it's six AM. Not even. _Not even six in the morning_. Please go away…"

"Well, Mikaela's here with that Nimbus person, and it'll only take me a few more minutes to finish getting the picnic together. I figured you'd want a few minutes to get dressed and eat breakfast."

_"What?"_ Sam yelped, half falling out of and half getting out of his bed in his haste.

"I'll have toast for you in two minutes," said Judy happily over her shoulder as she headed back down the stairs.

Sam bit back a curse, but he really wasn't all that angry.

After all, it had been a while since he'd just gotten the chance to relax, and it felt even longer—a small eternity. And the three of them—himself and Mikaela and Bee, and Nimbus too, now, he supposed—had finally found a picnic spot isolated enough for the Transformers to transform.

Today was going to be perfect.

oOo

"God _damn_ it, what do you want?" Irene snarled into the phone.

"Do you always answer like that?" Kristine asked casually.

"Huh? No, not under normal circumstances. My _stupid, stupid dog_ just managed to run into my ladder at exactly the wrong moment, causing me to spill a large bucket of paint all over myself, himself, the house, the ground and Coldfront. My day has not been all that fantastic. I knew I should have stayed in the Amazon. Anyways, what do you want?"

"Isn't it enough for an old friend to call and chat?" Kristine said, clearly amused.

"If you ever actually did just that, you'd be considerably more convincing," said Irene dryly. "Seriously, what do you want?"

"I'm actually just calling to tell you that there's going to be an awards ceremony in a few weeks."

"…Am I imagining things, or haven't we already been to one of those?"

"Yeah, but this one's by the Brazilian government. You gonna be there?"

"Just a second. Hey, Coldfront!"

"Yes?"

"You up for another trip to Brazil?"

"Yes."

"Let me rephrase that: you _want_ to go on another trip to Brazil?"

"If you wish to."

"That's… That's not what I'm asking. Look, just give me a straight opinion, damn it."

"I don't care either way, Irene."

"Okay, okay, I understand… Sounds like we're going, Kristine."

"Thanks. You'll probably get an official call in the next few days, but I figured I'd give you a heads-up. See you then!"

"Yeah, see you—bye."

Irene sighed mournfully. "You know, Chester, this thing seems like it's never going to be over," said Irene to her dog, who was dripping water and diluted paint, and looking up at her soulfully.

The sound of loud footprints coming around one corner of her house made her look up. "You sure you don't have any problems with going down to Brazil?" she said.

"Yes," he said again, simply, and Irene sighed loudly again.

"I can't wait until you get good at developing and then sticking up for your own opinions," she said. "Then I'll be able to stop being thoughtful about whether or not you actually want to do something. And I won't feel guilty about making you tag along on things you don't want to do."

Coldfront looked at her blankly.

"Turn around," Irene just sighed at last, reaching for the hose. "I need to finish getting the paint off of your legs before it sets."

"You're covered in paint as well," pointed out the Autobot. "You should see to your own needs first."

"Eh, whatever," said Irene with a slight smile. "It'll all come out in the shower. And I've been needing a haircut anyways."

Coldfront gave her one more long, measured glance before he followed her directions.

oOo

Optimus Prime was waiting.

Unlike the others, he wasn't waiting for anyone in particular to answer his call to return to Earth: he had definitive proof of the death of the Autobots he had been closest to, other than his current team. So he wasn't waiting for any particular Transformer who had disappeared into the war, not provably dead but almost definitely not alive.

He was waiting for anyone, really, to answer his call. Regardless that some already had, he was waiting. Each new arrival was full of promise.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had real hope.

Oh, he'd always had hope; he hadn't given up, he'd kept on fighting, even when he knew, logically, that it was a losing battle. Megatron disappearing had helped, but there'd always been the paranoid, niggling certainty that he would reappear.

And he had. And he had been killed. True, the Allspark had been lost with him; they would never be a thriving race, or anything more than a dying race, again. That was hard, but not impossible, to live with. The Allspark had been lost for years, and they'd all had to face the possibility that it had been lost for good.

But now, there was hope. The playing field in the battle between the Autobots and the Decepticons had been equaled once more, and possibly changed beyond all recognition. The fighting wasn't about who would control the Allspark anymore. He hoped that most of the Transformers would no longer have any reason, any need, to fight now.

And the growing acceptance of human governments, or at least tolerance, was heartening. The acceptance of individual humans, more than that. They were all rebuilding lives here on earth. It was more than Optimus had ever let himself hope for, and now it was coming true.

oOo

(1) For movie canon, I place the total number of Autobots and Decepticons as much higher than in, say, G1, for example. I think it matches the larger scale of the movies a little better.

(2) The Decepticon moustache-man, which is what Nimbus has as his holographic driver (see chapt. 7) is too blank-faced for me to think that the Decepticons are outfitted with something subtle enough to mimic human facial expressions—which isn't as ridiculous as it sounds when you consider the fact that the human face is an incredibly subtle method of communication.

oOo

--END Alien--


End file.
